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Photographic 

Sciences 
Corporation 


23  WEST  MAIN  STREET 

WEBSTER,  N.Y.  14580 

(716)  872-4503 


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CIHM/ICMH 

Microfiche 

Series. 


CIHM/ICIVIH 
Collection  de 
microfiches. 


Canadian  Institute  for  Historical  Microreproductions  /  Institut  Canadian  de  microreproductions  historiques 


Technical  and  Bibliographic  Notes/Notes  techniques  et  bibliographiques 


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D 
D 
D 
D 


Coloured  covers/ 
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Covers  damaqed/ 
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Couverture  restaurde  et/nu  pelliculde 

Cover  title  missing/ 

Le  titre  de  couverture  manque 


L'Institut  a  microfilm^  le  meiileur  exemplaire 
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sont  indiquds  ci-dessous. 


D 
D 
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y 


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D 
D 
D 
D 


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Coloured  maps/ 

Cartes  gdographiques  en  couleur 

Coloured  ink  (i.e.  other  than  blue  or  black)/ 
Encre  de  couleur  (i.e.  autre  que  bieue  ou  noire) 

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mais,  lorsque  cela  dtait  possible,  ces  pages  n'ont 
pas  6X6  film6es. 


D 


n/ 


D 
D 
D 


V 


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Showthrough/ 
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D 


Additional  comments:/ 
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Ce  document  est  filmd  au  taux  de  reduction  indiqu^  ci-dessous. 


lOX 

14X 

18X 

22X 

26X 

30X 

^ 

1 

12X 

16X 

20X 

24X 

28X 

32X 

1, 

}laire 
as  details 
iques  du 
nt  modifier 
xiger  une 
ie  filmage 


Id/ 
qu^es 


taire 


The  copy  filmed  here  has  been  reproduced  thanks 
to  the  generosity  of: 

National  Library  of  Canada 


The  images  appearing  here  are  the  best  quality 
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other  original  copies  are  filmed  beginning  on  the 
first  page  with  a  printed  or  illustrated  impres- 
sion, and  ending  on  the  last  page  with  a  printed 
or  illustrated  impression. 


The  last  recorded  frame  on  each  microfiche 
shall  contain  the  symbol  —♦-(meaning  "CON- 
TIMUED"),  or  the  symbol  V  (meaning  "END"), 
whichever  applies. 

Maps,  plates,  charts,  etc.,  may  be  filmed  at 
different  reduction  ratios.  Those  too  large  to  be 
entirely  included  in  one  exposure  are  filmed 
beginning  in  the  upper  left  hand  corner,  left  to 
right  and  top  to  bottom,  as  many  frames  as 
required.  The  following  diagrams  illustrate  the 
method: 


L'exemplaire  filmd  fut  reproduit  grSce  it  la 
g6n6rosit6  de: 

Bibliothdque  nationale  du  Canada 


Les  images  suivantes  ont  6X6  reproduites  avec  Ie 
plus  grand  soin,  compte  tenu  de  la  condition  et 
de  la  nettet^  de  l'exemplaire  film6,  et  en 
conformity  avec  les  conditions  du  contrat  de 
filmage. 

Les  exemplaires  originaux  dont  la  couverture  en 
papier  est  imprimde  sont  filmds  en  commengant 
par  Ie  premier  plat  et  en  terminant  soit  par  la 
dernidre  page  qui  comporte  une  empreinte 
d'impression  ou  d'illustration,  soit  par  Ie  second 
plat,  selon  Ie  cas.  Tous  les  autres  exemplaires 
originaux  sont  filmds  en  commengant  par  la 
premiere  page  qui  comporte  une  empreinte 
d'impression  ou  d'illustration  et  en  terminant  par 
la  dernidre  page  qui  comporte  une  telle 
empreinte. 

Un  des  symboles  suivants  apparaitra  sur  la 
dernidre  image  de  chaque  microfiche,  selon  Ie 
cas:  Ie  symbole  — *-  signifie  "A  SUIVRE",  Ie 
symbole  V  signifie  "FIN". 

Les  cartes,  planches,  tableaux,  etc.,  peuvent  etre 
filmds  d  des  taux  de  reduction  diff^rents. 
Lorsque  Ie  document  est  trop  grand  pour  gtre 
roproduit  en  un  seul  clichd,  il  est  film6  d  partir 
de  Tangle  supdrieur  gauche,  de  gauche  d  droite, 
et  de  haut  en  bas,  en  prenant  Ie  nombre 
d'images  ndcessaire.  Les  diagrammes  suivants 
illustrent  la  mdthode. 


I  by  errata 
med  to 

nent 

une  pelure, 
fapon  d 

9. 


32X 

1 

1 

2 

3 

1 

2 

3 

4 

5 

6 

i 


BEAUTIFUL  WILD  FLOWERS. 


UNIFORM    WITH    "BEAUTIFUL    FLOWERS." 


BEAUTIFUL    FERNS. 

Containing;  fourteen  superbly  colored  lif'c-sizc  Plates  of  the 
most  attracti\c  of  our  American  I'crns. 

Prici;  S6oo. 

ESTES   &    LAURIAT,   PUBLISHERS. 

209-30,^  Wa.shington  Strekt,  Boston. 

.S.    E.    CAS.SIXO,  Boston, 


BEAUTIFUL  WILD  FLOWERS 


OF 


AMERICA. 


ORIGINAL  WATER-COLOR  DRAWINGS  AFTER  NATURE, 


By    ISAAC   SPRAGUE. 


DESCRIPTIVE    TEXT    BY    REV.   A.   B.   HERVEY. 


WITH    F.XTRACTS   FROM 


LOXGFELLOIV.   WHITTIER,  BRVAXT.  HOUfES,  AXD  OTHERS. 


BOSTON: 

ESTES   &    LAURIAT.  ,^oi    WASIILNGTON    ST. 

S.  E.  CASSIXO.  y.    HAVVLEY   ST. 

1882. 


■'  0 


.11 


COPVRICIIT.     lS8l, 

By    S,    E.    CASSINO. 


.14 


CONTENTS. 


i 


4 


conti:nts. 


I'l.ATK 

I.  Fringed  Gentian 

II.  Wild   Columbine 

III.  Mountain    Pkinc;!': 

IV.  Flower    di:    Lucic   (Larger  Blue  Flag) 
V.  Wild   C)ran(;e-Ri:d    Lily 

VI.  Wild   Clematis  . 

VII.  Swamp    Rose 

VIII.  Wati.:r    Lily 

IX.  Moccasin    FlowI'R   (Lady's  Slipper) 

X.  y\.RR()W"  Li:a\t:d  Violf.t 

XI.  Purplp:    A/^alI'A  . 

XII.  May-FlowI'R   (Trailing  Arhutus) 

XIII.  Calopogon 

XIV.  Long-Leaved   Asii-:r 


l\f:  PA(;i-; 

I  I 

25 

35 

47 

57 

(\5 

77 

91 

99 

109 

123 

127 

141 

151 

THE    FRINGED   C;EXTIAN. 


THK    I'RKSSKD    CKNTIAX    AT    CHRISTMAS 


The  time  of  gifts  has  come  asain  ; 
And  on  my  noitlierii  wiiulow-iiane, 
Outlined  nLjaiiist  tiie  day's  brief  hght, 
A  Christmas  token  hangs  in  sight. 
The  wayside  travellers,  as  they  pass, 
Mark  the  gray  disk  of  clouded  glass  ; 
And  the  dull  blackness  seems,  perchance, 
Folly  to  their  wise  ignorance. 

They  cannot  from  their  outlook  see 

The  perfect  grace  it  has  to  me  ; 

I'or  there  the  flower,  whose  fringes  through 

The  frosty  breath  of  autumn  blew. 

Turns  fiorn  without  its  face  of  bloom 

To  the  warm  tropic  of  my  room. 

As  fair  as  when  beside  its  brook 

The  hue  of  bending  skies  it  took. 

So,  from  the  troilden  ways  of  earth, 

Seem  sotiie  sweet  souls  who  veil  their  worth, 

And  offer  to  the  careless  glance 

The  clouding  gray  of  circumstance: 

They  blossom  best  where  lieart-fires  burn. 

To  loving  eyes  alone  they  turn 

'I'he  flowers  (^{  inward  grace,  that  hide 

Their  beauty  from  tlie  world  outside. 

But  deeper  meanings  came  to  me, 
My  half  immortal  flower,  from  thee  I 
Man  judges  from  a  partial  view. 
None  ever  yet  his  brother  knew  ; 
The  Eternal  I^ye  that  sees  the  whole. 
May  better  read  the  darkened  soul, 
And  find,  to  outward  sense  tlenied, 
'1  he  flower  upon  its  inmost  side. 


I 


^. 


THE  FRINGED  GENTIAN 

GENTIANA    CRINITA,   Fnvl. 


To  him  who  in  the  love  of  Nature  holds 

Cominiinion  with  her  visible  forms,  she  speaks 

A  various  lanoruage;   for  his  i^^ayer  hours 

She  has  a  voiee  of  .yiadness.  and  a  smile 

And  eloquenee  of  beauty,  and  she  oijtles 

Into  his  darker  musinirs  with  a  mild 
And  healing  sympathy,  that  steals  away 
Their  sharpness  ere  he  is  aware. 

I  nryant. 

In  the  great  Book  of  Nature.  God  has  uttered  his  ^vondrou.s 
and  majestic  thoughts.  The  poet  and  the  naturalist,  each  in  his 
own  way,  translates  them  to  us  out  of  the  "original  tongues."  The 
poet,  with  the  vision  of  a  seer  and  the  sympathy  of  a  worshipper 
enters  the  silent  heart  of  Nature,  and  feeling  the  pulses  of  thought 
and  emotion  beating  there,  interprets  them  to  the  hearts  of  other 
men.  He  is  no  true  poet  who  does  not  find  in  the  facts  and  physical 
forms  of  Nature,  in  sea  or  sky.  in  bird,  or  tree,  or  fknver,  some  spirit 
which  is  akin  to  that  which  glows  and  throbs  in  human  hearts. 
"Out  of  the  dust  of  the  earth  "  the  same  Hand  made  us  all.    "  Nature 


i6 


THE    FRINGED   GENTIAN. 


is  loved  by  what  is  best  in  us,"  says  Emerson,  and  loved,  I  think, 
because  there  is  something  of  the  best  of  Nature  in  man.  and  some- 
thing of  the  best  of  man  in  Nature. 

The  roiinclcd  Avnrld  is  fiiir  to  sec. 

Nine  times  folded  in  mystery: 
Tlioiish  baffled  seer  cannot  impnrt 
The  seeret  of  its  laborins:^  heart, 
Throb  thine  with  Natnre's  throbbing  breast, 
And  all  is  clear  from  east  to  west. 

Spirit  tha    lurks  each  form  within 

IV-ckons  to  spirit  of  its  kin. 

1  Iiiiicrsoii. 

The  naturalist  interprets  to  us  the  exact  definable  truth  of 
Nature,  as  that  truth  is  embodied  in  the  physical  facts,  laws,  and 
relations  of  things.  From  him  we  learn  (^f  the  causes,  methods, 
reasons,  and  adjustments  of  Nature.  Sometimes  he  teaches  us  what 
is  the  physical  basis  of  that  beauty  of  form  and  color  which,  in  the 
sunset  sky  or  June  landscape,  in  fern  or  Howe-,  ravishes  the  soul 
with  delight.  Not  seldom  he  is  able  to  resolve  the  reason  that  runs 
unheard  'l)eneath  the  song  of  the  poet,  when  he  strikes  Nature's 
most  melodious  key. 

"  All  arc  but  p.arts  of  one  stupendous  whole. 
Whose  body  nature  is,  and  God  the  soul." 

Having  then  something  of  that  soul  in  each  of  us,  it  is  no  wonder 
wc  should  feel  a  subtile  sympathy  with  the  other  parts  (^f  this  great 
body  which  Nature  is.  So  when  the  poet  has  woven  a  web  of 
thought  and  feeling  about  any  of  the  beautiful  forms  of  Nature,  and 
imparted  to  them  a  human  interest  and  sensibility  out  of  his  own 
soul,  he  has  been  illustrating  the  truest  philosophy. 


GF.NTIANA    CRIXITA. 


17 


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^a 


"  For  the  Poet,  fiiithfiil  :iiul  far-seeini,r, 

Sees,  alike  in  stars  and  tlowers,  a  part 
Of"  the  self-same,  universal  bein<f. 

Whieh  is  throhhini^  in  his  brain  and  heart." 

Some  day  we  shall  sec  how  closely  all  this  is  correlated  with  the 
naturalist's  most  brilliant  gcneraIi;iation,  the  doctrine  of  Evolution. 
Then  we  shall  have  a  scientific  reason  why  "  one  touch  of  nature 
makes  all  the  world  akin."  For  man,  last  and  completest  in 
Creation's  mi<,dily  series,  repeats  in  himself  the  whole  world's  history, 
from  primeval  chaos  to  the  perfected  Beauty  and  Order,  which  the 
Greeks  called  Kosmos.  lie  is  the  world.  Into  the  tissue  of  his 
nature  are  woven  fibres  from  every  livino-  thing.  Fine,  invisible 
threads  reach  downward  and  tie  him  to  every  humblest  and  grandest 
form  in  Nature's  great  expanse,  — to  rock  and  river,  to  sea  and 
mountain,  to  the  trees  of  the  forest,  to  the  birds  flvino-  throuo-h  the 
azure  air,  to  the  flowers  of  the  field,  to  the  crimson  plant  whose 
delicate  frond,  fine  and  fragile  as  a  spider's  web,  is  held  and  nour- 
ished all  gently  in  the  wavy  waters  of  the  sounding  sea. 

So  we  will  take  with  us  both  the  poet  and  the  naturalist  in  our 
holiday  rambles  among  the  beautiful  flowers  of  our  forests,  meads, 
and  prairies.  The  naturalist  shall  guide  our  feet  to  their  favorite 
haunts,  in  green  fields,  upon  the  woody  hill-sides,  or  by  babbling 
brooks;  and  he  shall  tell  us  what  we  care  to  know  of  their  habits, 
and  forms,  and  curious  histories.  But  the  poet  shall  have  our  ear 
not  less,  and  he  shall  tell  us  of  the  finer  and  higher  meanings  of  these 

"  Flowers,  so  blue  and  golden, 
Stars,  that  in  Earth's  tirmament  do  shine." 

He   shall    rehearse   to    us    the    enchanting    legends   which    ancient 
fancy  has  wrapped  about  these  fair  forms,  or  tell   us  of  the  loves 


iS 


Till';    I  RIN(;I-.I)    (il'MIAN. 


whicli   cliildnii    or   IimkUt   iiKiidcis,   or  hootlcd    monks,   or   mailed 


knitrlits, 


avc    had    lor    tlicsc 


•ms  (it'tlif  brii,'lit  atid  hrtttT  l;iml. 


I  I 


Our  first  plate  represents,  with  an  unecpialled  fidelity  to  both 
nature  and  art,  one  of  our  most  choiee  and  beautiful  autumn 
tlowcrs.  I'pon  the  stalks  of  smooth  herbs,  from  one  to  two 
feet  hif^di,  with  leaves  set  ret,ndarly  opposite  each  other,  the 
flowers  lift  up  their  sky-blue  cups,  bordered  with  four  expand- 
in;^^  frinij^ed  lobes.  In  the  buds  the  petals  are  folded  and  twisted 
about  each  other,  as  is  partly  shown  in  the  half-opened  flowers 
at  the  top  of  the  plate.  They  may  be  looked  for  during;"  Sep- 
tember and  October,  in  low  places  alonjj^  meadow-brooks  and  by  the 
edi,fes  of  swamps.  They  are  rather  common  from  New  England 
to  Wisconsin  and  Kentucky,  but  rare  northward  or  southward 
of  that  region.  This  t,a'nus  is  a  member  of  a  larj^e  family 
of  related  plants,  mostly  bearint^''  brilliant  and  beautiful  flowers. 
Its  name  is  said  to  ha\e  been  derived  from  that  of  a  king 
of  lUyria,  (jentius,  who  lived  one  hundred  and  eighty  years 
B.  C,  and  who,  Pliny  says,  greatly  prized,  for  its  medicinal 
virtues,  one  species  t)f  it,  which  grows  in  Alpine  regions  all 
over    Europe. 

So  beautiful  a  flower  would  not  escape  the  appreciative  eye 
of  any  true  lover  of  Nature.  Our  American  poets  have  made 
it  the  fitting  theme  of  some  of  their  most  charming  lines. 
Whittier  uses  it,  as  his  wont  is,  to  teach  a  deep  lesson  of 
modest  worth  and  gentle  charity;  Bryant,  to  paint  a  picture 
of  autumnal  nature,  and  to  find  in  it  inspiration  of  upward- 
looking    hope    for   life's    autumn    days. 


w 


^ 


THr.    I-RINGF.D    r.F.NTIAN. 


19 


TiiK  FR[\(;i:i)  (;f.\tia\. 

Thou  blossom  l)ri<,rlit  with  aulmnii  dew, 
Ami  colored  with  the  heaven's  own  blue. 
Thou  opeiiest  wiu'ii  tiie  ([uiet  li,<,dit 
Succeeds  tiie  keen  and  IcostN'  niy;ht. 

Thou  coniest  not  wiien  \  iolets  lean 

O'er  wanderinL,^  brooks  and  springs  unseen. 

Or  colunibini's,  in  jnn]de  ilresseil. 

Nod  o'er  the  yrouiKl-bird's  hitlden  nest. 

Thou  waitest  late  and  coiii'st  alone. 
When  woods  are  bare  and  birds  are  tlown. 
And  frosts  and  shortening  da\s  portend 
The  a<jcd  year  is  near  his  end. 

Then  doth  thy  sweet  anil  <iuiet  eye 
Look  thronjili  its  iVini,res  to  the  sky, 
Blue  —  bine  —  as  if  that  sky  let  fall 
A  (lower  from  its  cerulean  wall. 

I  would  that  thus,  when  I  shall  see 
The  hour  of  death  draw  near  to  me, 
Hope,  blossoming  within  my  heart, 
May  look  to  hea\en  as  I  depart. 

Jhyaiit. 


'I     I 


•■■I 

-1% 


THE    WILD    COLUMBINE. 


:  •-m•^ 


->. 


1 


The  Wild  Columbine, 


AQUILEGIA    CANADENSIS,  L. 


'1* 


Thou  smiliiiij^  Spring!  again  thy  praise 

Is  on  the  lip  of  streams; 
And  the  waterfalls  loud  anthems  raise, 

By  day,  and  in  their  dreams; 
The  lakes  that  glitter  on  the  plain 

Sing  with  the  stirring  bree/e; 
And  the  voiec  of  weleomc  sounds  again 

From  tile  surge  upon  the  seas. 

Rock-vcU. 

"  Smilinc;  Spring."  in  our  northern  climes,  adorns  itself  Mith 
many  floral  gems.  In  the  pages  of  this  book.  I  shall  have 
the  pleasure  of  making  my  readers  familiar  with  the  forms  of 
a  few  of  the  most  beautiful  of  them.  Among  them  all  none 
can  be  ranked  higher,  for  a  certain  grace  of  bearing  and  a 
peculiar  delicacy  as  well  as  brilliancy  of  coloring,  than  the  Wild 
Columbine.  The  green  of  the  small  threc-lobed  rounded  leaves 
is  singularly  delicate  and  satisfying  to  the  eye.  The  flower  is 
elaborately  constructed,  with  its  yellow  and  pink  petals  pro- 
longed   into   a    bent    spur    behind,    its    dark-red    sepals    protrud- 


THE    WILD   COI.UMRINF.. 


iw^  like  wiiip^s  l)et\vccii  ;  aiul  its  down-hanging  brush  of 
lengthened  pistils  and  stamens,  all  pendent  upon  the  slender 
stalk.  As  it  tlanees  in  the  gentle  breezes,  it  makes  a  floral 
treasure  that  every  wanderer  in  ihe  spring  woods  or  by  "  mead- 
ow's marge"  will  be  glad  to  Hnd.  And  you  will  find  it  in 
early  spring,  not  seldom  when  few  other  flowers  have  come; 
when  the  "Adder's  Tongue,"  the  "Anemone,"  the  "Blue  V'iolets," 
and  the  "  Sanguinaria,"  i)erhaps,  will  be  its  only  .companions. 
In  the  warm  days  of  April  or  early  May,  l.efore  the  trees  have 
shaken  out  their  new  foliage  to  the  breeze,  when  the  bright 
sun  i)oiirs  its  flood  of  light  and  warmth  over  all  the  land  — 
over  the  brown  pastures,  and  down  through  the  shadeless  woods, 
and  the  thick  covering  of  crisj),  dry  leaves,  the  cast-off  foliage 
of  last  year,  stirs  and  crackles  under  your  feet,  —  that  is  th:  time 
to    go    gathering    Columbines. 

It  affects  high  places,  and  especially  those  edges  of  hill-tops 
where  the  rocks  push  themselves  to  the  surface,  and  make 
|)recipitous  steeps.  Many  a  time  I  have  found  it  thus,  in  pro- 
fusion, on  the  high  hills  east  of  the  Hudson,  about  Troy. 
And  my  memorv  of  sundry  walks,  in  warm  spring  days,  when 
the  spirit,  weary  with  long  months  of  toil,  pent  up  in  brick 
walls,  so  deeply  enjoys  the  first  glimpse  again  of  the  bright 
loving  face  of  Nature,  will  be  always  associatetl  with  these 
charming    flowers. 

The  Columbine  of  the  Hnglish  woodlands  has  been  held 
sometimes,  the  poets  say,  as  the  symbol  of  sorrow  and  deso- 
lation. 

"The  Columbine,  by  lonely  wanderers  taken. 
Is  tl'.cn  ascribed  to  siicli  as  are  forsaken." 


4 


THE    WILD   COLUMBINE. 


27 


I 


Mr.  Thomas  Mechan  quotes  an  old  play  of  Chapman,  of 
the  year  1600,  in  which  reference  is  made  to  the  Columbine 
as   an    emblem    of   int^ratitude. 

"What's  that  — a  Cohimhiiic? 
No,  that  thankless  llowcr  i;r()\vs  not  in  ni}'  garden." 

Rut  to  me  it  is  a  flower  associated  neither  with  sorrow  nor 
in;.;ratitude,  but  with  the  memory  of  some  of  the  most  beau- 
tiful and  sunny  hours  that  have  come  to  me  in  all  this 
"  pil_s.;rimage." 

The  Wild  Columbine  is  a  plant  a  foot  or  more  his^rh,  slen- 
der, and  sparini,dy  branched,  with  not  many  leaves.  The  stem 
and  branches  are  more  or  less  tintj^ed  with  pink.  It  may  be 
found  in  blossom  from  April  to  June,  in  the  North-eastern  and 
Midtile  States.  It  takes  kindly  to  cultivation,  and  may  be 
transplanted  into  the  garden.  It  was  carried  to  Europe  from 
this  country  for  that  purpose  about  the  middle  of  the  last 
centurv. 

The  spurs  into  which  the  petals  arc  prolonged  are  the  nec- 
taries, or  honey-pots,  of  the  flower.  The  considerable  leneth 
of  these  serves  to  test  the  strength,  perseverance,  or  ingenuity 
of  the  bees  or  other  insects  who  would  rob  the  flower  of  its 
drops  of  sweetness.  By  this  means  also  it  compels  the  rob- 
ber to  serve  its  economy  of  reproduction.  Being  obliged  to 
push  and  struggle  hard  to  get  his  tongue  into  the  bottom  of 
the  deep  nectary,  he  is  sure  to  get  his  hairy  back  covered  all 
over  with  the  flower-dust,  or  pollen,  from  the  yellow  anthers 
against  which  he  so  roughly  brushes.  So,  when  in  search  of 
more    honey,    he    flies    away  to    another    Columbine,  he  will   carry 


28 


Till'     WILD    COLUMUINU. 


n  load  of  the  fcrtilizint,^  dust  with  him.  Thus  he  helps  to 
make  the  plant  more  fruitful,  and  secures  plenty  of  Howers  next 
year  for  the  sui)i)ort,  as  we  mij^ht  suppose  he  understands  it,  of 
his    own    prot;eny. 

Some  insects,  which  are  not  lars^e  enouj^h  to  reach  the  droj) 
of  nectar  in  the  bottom  of  the  vessel  with  their  tongue,  inj^eni- 
ously  j;()  around  on  the  outside,  and  with  their  sharp  jaws 
cut  a  little  hole  through  its  wall,  and  take  the  honey  out 
through  that. 

The  Columbine  to  which  the  Hnglish  poets  refer  is  a  pur[)le 
iiouer,  somewhat  stouter  than  this  one,  not  so  long,  and  with 
the  spurs  more  incurved  at  tlie  entl.  It  is  the  common  Colum- 
bine of  our  gardens. 

'•  Make  her  a  goodly  cliaplet  of  azure  columbines, 
yViul  wreathe  about  lier  coronet  with  sweetest  ej;lanline," 

wrote  Drayton  three  hundred  years  ago;  and  poor,  crazed  Ophelia 
gathers  it  to  deck  herself,  saying  in  her  plaintive  way  to   Laertes, 

"  Tliei'e  is  iennel  for  you,  ;uul  columbines." 

The  name  is  said  to  be  derived  from  co/itniba,  Latin  for  dove ; 
or  from  ciilvcii-woii,  which  was  its  earlier  name,  and  is  from 
Anglo-Saxon  cii/fre,  a  dove,  and  looi'f,  a  plant.  The  appropriate- 
ness of  the  name  and  the  allusion  rests  upon  some  fancied 
resemblance  of  its  blue  or  purj^le  petals  to  a  circle  of  doves  drink- 
ing or  eating  from  the  same  dish  ;  or,  as  some  say,  to  the  like- 
ness of  the  separate  petals,  with  the  wing-like  sepals  spreading 
on  each  side,   to  a  miniature  do\e. 

The  derivation  of  the  name  of  the  genus,  Aqiiilcgia,  is  a  mat- 
ter of  dispute  among  botanists.     Some  say  that  it  is  derived  froni 


Wi, 


* 
-# 


I 


THii  WILD  coi.umhint:. 


29 


:'PI 


i 


Latin  aqtiila,  cajole,  rcfcrrinc:;'  to  the  likeness  which  the  cluster  of 
bent  spurs  seems  to  bear  to  the  talons  of  that  lordly  bird.  Others 
deri\e  it  from  (Ujiia,  water,  and  //i^'v;,  to  collect,  referrinj.;-  to  the 
apparent  desit^n  of  the  petals,  with  tlieir  deep  wells,  to  collect 
water;  which,  by  the  way,  they  nt'ver  ilo,  for  they  always  han.t,'' 
horizontal,  or  mouth  downward.  If  this  is  the  derivation  of  the 
word,  it  would  seem  more  likely  to  liave  reference  to  the  open 
seed-case,  which,  when  ripe,  stands  erect  and  mii;ht  easily  serve 
the  uses  of  a  rain-catcher. 

The  Columbine  has  been  a  favorite,  not  only  with  the  poets, 
but  with  the  artists  also,  in  the  aL;es  past.  It  appears  not  infre- 
quently as  an  element  of  decorative  art.  It  is  found  as  a  border 
upon  an  illuminated  manuscript  as  early  as  the  fifteenth  century. 
It  was  at  one  time  combined  with  the  red  rose,  as  a  bad^y'e  of  the 
royal  house  of  Lancaster.  And  lony  before  that  it  had  been 
associated  with  the  more  familiar  Hrooi]i-flowcr,  Planta  i^ci/isfn, 
as  the  bad_sTc  of  the  royal  house  which  thence  derived  its  historic 
name,  Plantatrenet. 


,"'^" 


Ik 


THE    MOUNTAIN    FRINGE. 


t 


'-I^*' 


Ji 


'^ 


»■   '■ 


3. 


v" 

* 


-; 


•al 


'i 


I 


% 


'S 


iif 


^'.^d 


The  Mountain  Fringe, 


ADLUML'l    CIRRHOSA,   Raf. 


For  I  lia\  c  learned 
To  look  on  Xatmr,  not  as  in  the  ho 


nir 


Oftl 


loimhtless  Nouth: 


but  1 


leaniii:;  oltentinies 


Tl 


le  still,  sad  music  of  humanitw 


Nor  harsh,  nor  gratiiiL;',  though  ol" ample  power 


To  chasten  and  subdi 


And  I  1 


ia\c   ieit 


A  presence  that  disturbs  me  with  tl 


le  10V 


()t'ele\ated  thouuhts 


a  sense  sulilime 


Of 


something  far  more  deeply  interllised. 


Whose  dwelling-  is  the  light  ol"  setting  suns. 
And  the  round  ocean  and  the  living-  air. 


And  the  blue  skv,  and  in  tl 


le  miiu 


I  ol' 


man. 


T 


lerelore  am 


1  still 


A  lo\  er  ol"the  meadows  and  the  woods. 
And  mountains;  and  of  all  that  we  1 


Id 


V\ww  this  green  earth;   of  all  the 
Of  eye,  and  ear.  —  both  what  they  half 
And  what  perceixe;   well  pi 
In  Nature  and  the 


e  Hello 


miglU\'  wor 


Id 


create, 


eased  to  i 


ecogmze 


aiiLiuaiie  o 


i'  tl 


le  sense. 


nirest  thoutihts;   tl 


le  nurse. 


The  anchor  of  ni\' 

The  guide,  the  guardian  of  my  heart,  and  soul 

Of  all  mv  moral  being.  —  W'ordixcort/i. 


36 


THE    MOUNTAIN    IRINGE. 


It  would  not  be  str 


in''c 


if  sometime  \vc  should  learn  to  k 


now 
ious 


that  the  evolutionist   had  actually  laid    bare    the    fine,  myster 
chain,  which,  as  the  poet  found  out  lout,''  ai^a:),  binds  all  beins^s  i 


n 


a  common   kmsluii  and  a  universal    s\-m 


path} 


There  is  no  fact 


of  nature  more    olnious  even    to    the    casual  observer    than    the 
U;reat    variety  of    forms  cxistins;-    side    bv  side    in    the    vetretable 


world 


It 


wou 


Id   task   the  most  \'\\'u\ 


and    active  imas'ination   to 


conceive  of  a  form  of  plant-life  of  which  the  naturalist  does  not 
already  know  somethiuL;-  which  would  more  than  parallel  it  in 
novelty  or  strange  eccentricitN'  of  hal)it.     And   there   is  a  place  for 


evervthiu''-,    and   a  chance    for  all,  —  for  the    feathery     fi 


I  em    m 


the 


(lee 


p  shade  ol    the  woods,  and 


fi/r  the  L;ra\-   lichen   upon   the  bare 


rock,  or  the   smooth   bole  of  the   beech,   not   less    than   for  the   lily 
and   the   rose.       liven    the    uijlv  and     uiiinteresliiisj-    fumjus. 


and    small,    has    its    place  and    its    opportunity,    li\ing- 


th( 


;rcat 
;h    it 


c.oes,  lilvC  a 


hum, 


m    sycophant   and    parasite,   upon    the    bounty  of 


)th 


otliers. 


snon''es, 


It  IS  certamh'  a  misnomer    to    call    that   sort    of 


peoi 


)eoi)le 


tor 


spont^es   m   nature   are  an 


honest   folk,  and   live   ind 


us- 


trious   and   useful   li\es.       I'ut   the   fuiii^us  eats   what    others     have 
earned,  and   subsists   by   niakin;^'   the   world   poorer. 

I    think   it   somethin;<   more   than  a  mere   t'ancy  which  discovers 
aloj^ies    between    ihe    forms    and    habits    of    |)lant-Iife    and     the 


an 


(pialities  of  luiin.ni  nature,  or  the  experiences  of  human  life.  The 
unity  of  the  woild  miL;ht  easily  furnish  i^rounds  t'or  an  inner  and 
deeper  correspondence.  We  can  easil)-  suppose  that  there  is  one 
spirit  in  all  and  throut^di  all  ;  that  there  is  one  type  of  architect 
ure,     so  to  say,  for  the  visible  and   the  inxisible  worlds. 

How  many  meanings  might  we    gather  from   the  whisperings 
of  the   winds   through  the  leaves    uf    the  trees!       I  low    siyniticant 


THI':    MOUNTAIN    I'KINGi:. 


37 


If 

i 

i 


the  voices  of  the  \\(K)ds  !     What  jrni.idcr  creation  is  there  among- 
Nature's  living  things  than  the  great  forest-trees? 

Fatlier,  thy  liaiul 
llatli  roared  tlu'so  venerable  eoluiniis.  tliou 
Didst  \vea\  e  this  verdant  roof. 

(irandeiir,  stren^tii,  and  yraee, 
Are  liere  to  speak  ol   tliee 

This  nii<;lity  oak  —  not  a  piinee 
In  all  tliat  ))roiul  land  beyond  the  ileep. 
E'er  wore  his  erown  as  loftily  as  he 
Wears  the  yreen  eoronai  of"  leaves  with  whieii 
Thy  hand  has  {graced  liim.  —  Biynnl. 

How  they  typify  the  procession  of  human  life  in  their  grand 
niarcli,  generation  after  generation,  down,  the  coimtless  centuries, 
far  antedatint^   man's  most  venerable  historic  memory ! 

With   men,   as   u  ith    trees,  — 

Lol   ail  i^row  old  anil  die.  —  but  see  ai;'ain 
How  on  the  faiteiir.j;'  footsti'ps  of  deeay 
^'outil  presses  —  ever^ay  and  beautiiul  Youth, 
In  all  its  beaiitirui  loriiis.     These  lolly  trees 
^\'a\e  not  less  piouilly  tliat  then-  aneestors 
Moulder  beneath  them. 

Lil'e  mocks  the  idle  hate 
Ofiiis  arch  enemy  Death — yea.  seats  irlmsell 
I'pon  the  tyrant's  tiirone  —  the  sepulchre. 
And  of  the  triumphs  of  his  jijhastly  foe 
iNlakes  his  own  nourishment.  —  Brycnif. 

The  great  trees!    what  an    emblem  are  they  of    strength    and 

rtured,  manlv  character,  rooted 


stability  in   the  comp: 


/ly 


in  eternal   righteousness,  and  growing  upwarti   antl  ex|)aniling   out- 
ward, evermore  toward  light  and   heaven. 


3'S 


THI':    MOIINIAIN     I-RI.\f.F.. 


"  With  liis  ^natlccl  old  iirms,  aiul  liis  iron  form, 
Majestic  in  tiu'  wood. 
I'l'oni  aijc  to  a<;(.',  in  sun  -.hm]  storm, 
Tiu'  li\c-oai<  loni.''  iiath  stood. 

And  tiu'  L,a'ni:ra[ions  come  and  yo. 

And  still  lu'  stands  npri^ht. 
And  he  sternly  looks  on  the  wood  below. 

As  eonseioiis  ot  his  mi<;'ht.'" 

So  stands  a  stroiio'  life  and  a  nohk'  characlcM'.  And  it  stands 
there  iiiiinorlal.  "Over  such,  Death  halli  no  power."  "  Ik'inj.^ 
dead,"  in  respect  to  this  mortal  form,  "they  )et  speak."  And 
such  li\-es  and  such  sotds  arc  siiade  and  siielter  to  the  nudtitude 
of  smaller  li\es  that  onnv  like  flowers,  or  blades  of  jj^-rass,  around 
and  beneath,  ['"or  there  are  little  and  j^reat,  in  the  world  of  men, 
as  in   the   forest  of  trees. 

Hut  I  take  note  that  the  or,-eatest  men,  unlike  what  the  poet 
has  imaoined  of  the  "onarled  live-oak,"  do  not  "look  sternly  on 
the  woods  below."  They  look  kindly  down  and  around.  The 
;<reatest  soids  have  m  ist  of  pity,  and  kindliness,  and  sweet  charity, 
for  those  who  are  smaller  than  they.  Mercy  is  "  miohtiest  in 
the  miohty,"  all  the  way  up,  from  the  ;<reatest  human  souls  to 
the  great  Over-Soid,  u  ho  is  — - 

"Immortal    Love  forever  full, 
Forever  flowing-  tree, 
Fore\er  shared,  forever   whole, 
A  ne\ er-ehhin"  sea  I  " 


Hate    may  i^-'o    up,   but    Love    comes    down    forever.      That    is 
Heaven's  answer  to    Iiarth's    cry.      The    wild    discortl    of    human 


TIIIC    MOUNTAIN    I'KINGE 


39 


i 

■1 


'M 


cursings,  and  inockinj^s,  and  cruel  blows,  is  echoed  from  tin-  hluc 
arch  in  tones  of  pilyini;  tenderness.  "  I'ather,  foryi\e  theui,  tor 
they  know  not  what  they  do." 

Nor  can  1  (loul)t  that  there  is  a  teaehin;^  of  uisdoni  from 
the  Mountain  l'rin;^e, — a  delicate  twining  \  ine.  It  is  one  ot  a 
lari^e  class  of  phmts,  which,  while  they  ha\-e  a  root  of  their  own, 
and  draw  their  life    from    the   common 


stored  up  in  earth  and  air,  have  not  the  ability  to  stand  up  and 
face  the  wintls  and  peltini;-  storms  alone.  These  weak  ones  inist 
twine  themselves   about,  or  lean   upon,    the   strong'. 

From    time   immemorial    it    has   been     thoui^ht   the   prni)cr  and 
j^^allant   thing   in    poetry,  and    in    after-dinner  speeches,  to   reter  to 


th 
l)o 

S( 


illiaUL        LIIIM!^        Ill        pui_LI^,      illlW        III         111  l.l_  1  -V  1  111  ll^.  1        .'|.v^^  11^  ..,       ..V.       .v.._.        --• 

le  fair  sex  as  a  vine  which  twines  about  the  oak,  geltirig  sup- 
ort  and  leniliug  beauty  at  the  same  time.  lUit  I  learn  that 
)me  of  the  fair  creatures  are,  in  these  modern  times,  (piite  dis- 
posed to  repudiate  this  suggestive  simile  and  all  that  it  implies. 
They  declare  their  willingness  to  come  down  to  the  platform  oi 
"natural  selectitMi  "  in  the  struggle  of  life,  and  abide  the  verdict, 
along  with  the  sterner  sex,  of  the  inexorable  law  ot  "the  sur- 
vival of  the  fittest."  Far  be  it  from  me  to  a.ftirm  that  even  thiMi 
the  angelic  partners  of  our  earthly  course  would  not  carry  oft 
the  prizes;  for  are  not  they  the  "fittest"  of  all  sublunary  things 
to  achieve,  or  merit,  the  best  sweets  and  glories  w  hich  this  poor 
world   of  ours   can   afford  ? 

Still,  I  am  inclined  to  believe  that  the  discarded  simile  is  not 
altogether  without  its  worth.  I  think,  with  Tennyson,  that  woman 
has   not   quite   found   her  natural    place   in   the   worUl, — 


''Till  at  the  last  slu'  set  herselt'  to  man, 
Like  pcrleet  imisie  unto  nublc  VMHiis.' 


fi 


40 


TUl':    MOINIAIN     IklNCli. 


He   this   as   it    may,   it    seems    proper   to   think    that   at    U'ast   oiu' 
important  use  of  the  depeiuknt  \iiies,  in  whatever  reh'ition  of  life, 


n' 


is    to    call    out    and    develop    the    j^allanirv,  gentleness,  or  helpful- 
ness of   the    strong'  oaks.      I    have   the   meniorv  of   an    old    lesjend, 


liiat  once  our 


hi 


essed 


Lord 


suhered  one  o 


f  hi 


s  saints   to   become 


a  bci^^irar  hy  the  roadside,  there  to  sit  all  day  long,  to  solicit  and 
receive  alms.  I^)Ut  he  who  had  all  his  life  been  a  helper  of  the 
poor  and  a  _i;i\er  of  alms,  l)y  no  means  liked  this  hard  fortune, 
and  made  complaint  of  it.  Hut  the  Lord  exi)laine(l  that  if  tlu're 
were  no  poor  there  would  be  no  charity  ;  that  the  helpless  are 
the  best  s^ift  of  dod  to  the  helpful  ;  and  that  as  a  be!4"j.:^ar  he 
was  perhaps  doini;'  more  to  sa\'e  souls,  by  keepin!.,^  tiiem  identic, 
and  unselfish,  and  thoughtful  of  the  weak,  than  when  he  went 
about  strong  and  self-dependent,  giving  to  the  needy. 

The  artist   has  given  a   most  admirable    representation    of  one 
of  our   most    beautiful    climbing  plants.      It    is   ([uite   common    in 


the  woods  of   New  Vor 


first  years  ( 
celebrated 


if  th 


and   the   West.     It   was  descriljed   in   tlu 


e  ceiiturv   hv  one  01    our  ear 


l)otanists. 


rliest  and   most  justly 
'rofessor     Ralinestiue,    who    dedicated     the 


genus  to   Major  Adlum,  "who  is  said   by  Dr.  Torrey  to  h.ive  l)eei 
a  distinsjuished    cultivator   of    the   vine."     It    is    sometimes   c 


:all 


Climbing  Fumatory,  from  the  Latin  f/tiiiiis,  smoke,  on  accourt  of 
the  supposed  resemblance  of  the  fine  sprays  of  branches  and 
flowers,  in  this  and   related  i)lants,  to  — 


"  Liulit-winyi'd  Siridke  I      Kaiian  bird 
Nk'ltinu  tliy  pinidiis  in  thy  u|nvard  lliylu."' 


—  the  subtile  spirit  of  which,  the    l)lue    envelope,  that  wraps    t'.ie 
distant   hills  about,  the  poet  sings  of  here: 


THl'     MOIMAIN     IRINGE. 


41 


Woof  of  tlu'  I'cn,  otlicrcal  s,r;iu/.c, 
\\'()\cn  ot   Xature's  richest  stiitls. — 
\'isiblo  licat,    air-water,  aiul  dry  sea, 
Last  cun(]ucst  of  the  eye; 
Aerial  surf  u\wn  tlie  shores  ol  earth, 
l^reakers  of  air.  liillows  of  lieat, 
Fine  summer  spra\-  on  inland  seas. 


Thorciui. 


■9. 
I 


THE    FLOWER    DE    LUCE. 


"Z"^'j^~ir~^ — " 


'^^r>,S:- 


n 


;V'^ 


,/ 


.f  ■ 


if 


,T 


va' 


M. 


^^ 


*j.. 

1- 

■  '"•>.- 

'!■ 

-rt't .... 

Vv  - 

CS^  '§ 

% 

■5, 

•i| 

' 

f 

t 

.? 

"i 


0- J® 


"l-'ii 


I  •; 


I 


The  Flower  de  Luce, 

(Larger  Blue  Flag.) 

IRIS    I'll  R  S  ICO  LOR,    L. 


THE   RAINBOW. 

Triumphal  arch,  that  tiU'st  the  sky 

When  storms  prepare  to  part, 
I  ask  not  proud  pliilosophy 

T(j  teach  me  wliat  thou  art. 

How  <,'lorious  is  tiiy  girdle  cast 

O'er  mountain,  tower,  and  town, 
Or  mirrored  in  the  ocean  vast, 

A  thousand  fathoms  down. 

For,  faithful  to  its  sacred  paffe, 

IIea\cn  still  rebuilds  thy  span; 
Nor  lets  the  type  grow  pale  with  age. 

That  first  spoke  peace  to  man. 

Campbell. 

Plutarch  says  the  word  lyis  is  from  the  Egyptian,  and 
means  "The  Eye  of  Heaven."  The  Greeks  named  this  phint 
from    the    Rainbow,    which    they    called    "Iris,"    in    allusion    to 


4S 


THK    FLOWKR    DE    LUCE. 


the  niint;ling  of  brilliant  colors  in  its  blossom.  Iris  was  also 
the  goddess  of  the  Rainbow,  and  the  fair  messenger  of  Juno, 
the  latter  being  the  goddess  of  the  sky  and  clouds,  and  of  the 
powers  and   phenomena  of  the  air. 

Iris  was  sent  to  earth  bearing  messages  of  peace  to  the  chil- 
dren of  men  ;  she  fdled  the  clouds  with  water  from  the  lakes  and 
sea,  and  poured  it  in  gentle  showers  again  upon  the  fertile 
ground.  Antl  she  it  was  who  bordered  every  retreating  storm- 
cloud  with  the  gorgeous  fringe  of  the  rainbow,  a  symbol  of 
peace  and   ])lenty. 

Now  ()\  iThcad,  ;i  rainliow.  bursting'  tliroiiLrli 

'I'lic  scattcrint;-  clouds,  slionc,  spaiiiiiny  tlic  dark  sea, 

Rostinn'  its  bri;;lit  base  on  tlic  (jiii\crin_<;;  blue. 

—  A  lica\eiily  cliamclei)ii, 

Till.'  airy  child  of  \apor  ;iiid  tiic  sun. 

Brought  I'ortli  in  purple,  cradicil  in  xcrmilion, 

IJaplized  ia  molten  <i()ld,  and  swathed  in  dun, 

(liittcrin^'  like  crescents  o'er  a  Turk's  pa\  ilion. 

And  lilcndinLC  e\cry  color  into  one. 

/yyivti. 


'•^iP. 


Many  legends  tell  how  Juno  made  the  Iris  flower,  among  the 
few  most  Ijeautifid  of  all  the  Mowers  of  the  field,  to  spring  from 
the  earth,  in  recognition  of  her  much-loved  and  favorite  Maitl  of 
Honor.  So  the  chaste  and  beauteous  Iris,  the  fleet  messenger 
of  the  gods,  has  her  perpetual  memorial  in  the  splentlid  bow  of 
color  which  the  storm  projects  upon  the  sky,  and  in  this  group 
of  radiant  flowers,  which  bespangle  the  green  of  meadow  and 
forest    over  the  mountains  and  \alle\s  of  two  continents. 

Louisa  Ann  'l"w;imle\-  tells  a  charming  story  of  the  meaning 
t)f  the    Iris.      At   one  of  the  courts   held   bv    Flora. 


■| 


THE    I-LOVVF.K    VV.    LUCK. 


49 


All  with  their  pi'lals  so  fair, 
Tiic  ,i;ay  tlowors  wioatliLd  were. 

Hut  'midst  them  all 
Crowned  at  the  rainbow  festival, 
A  sapphire-eolored  blossom  shone 
The  loxeliest  there;   no  other  one 


II 


er  lewels  wore 


So  ii;raeel'ully.      Her  robe  all  o'er 
Was  radiant,  yet  deep  blue,  like  twili<j;ht  sky. 
And  sot'tlv  shaded  as  when  clouds  do  lie 


pon 


the  d 


eeji  exjianse. 


was  straiiLfe  none  knew 


name 


lor  this  fair  IbiMii,  so  bright  and  blue: 


But  sister-tlowerets  laneitidly  said, 

As  they  to  note  her  lu'aiity  had  been  led. 

By  its  enchantment  in  the  rainbow  shower. 


They 


e  en  wouli 


1  cal 


hei'  IRIS  t'roni  that  hour. 


Christian    Icirciul,    not    less    thai 


(irci 


.'k,    has    1 


)C(jn 


hu^ 


•y 


with  the  Iris.  I-ont,^  centuries  ago  tlie  "  IHower  de  luce"  was 
said  to  be  a  favorite  with  tiie  Oueen  of  Heaven,  the  \'iroin 
Mother  of  Our  Lord.  The  story  is  told  of  an  old  knit;ht  who, 
though  very  devout,  was  also  very  stupid.  He  could  never 
retain  in  his  memory  more  than  two  worils  of  a  prayer  to  the 
Lady  Mother.  These  were  "Ave  Maria;"  and  with  these  he  con- 
stantly addressed  his  prayer  to  Heaven.  He  was  spending  his 
last  years  in  a  convent,  ami  the  wordy  monks  there  had 
unbounded  contempt  for  a  man  with  so  limited  a  vocabulary  of 
devotion,  and  they  did  not  fail  to  let  him  know  it.  lUit  the  good 
old  knight  possessed  his  soul  with  patience,  and  night  and  day 
his  siin|)le  prayer  continued,  till  at  last  he  died  and  was  laid  in 
the  chapel  yard  of  the  convent,-  when,  as  a  \noo(  of  the 
acceptance    of    his    brief    though    earnest  pra\'er,    a    plant    of    the 


50 


THH    ILOWUK    DE    Ll'CH. 


1^ 


"Flower  (Ic  luce"  sprani,^  u[)  on  his  i;rave,  displaying  on  every 
flower,  ill  golden  letters,  the  words  "  .-/zr  Marin."  The  sight 
of  this  miracle  induced  the  scotTnig  nioid<s  to  open  his  grave, 
and  they  found  the  root  of  the  plant  resting  on  the  lips  of 
the    good   old    soldier   who   lay   mouldering   there. 

"The  historical  importance  of  the  Iris,"  says  Mr.  Thomas 
Meehan,  "is  due  to  the  fact  that  it  became  the  national  tlower 
of  iMance.  As  such  it  has  acipiired  a  world-wide  reputation, 
under  the  name  of  '  Fleur  de  lis,"  which  is  nothing  Ijut  a 
corruption  of  '  I'leur  de  Louis.'  Hut  it  had  a  political  sig- 
nificance long  helore  it  was  officially  adopted  by  the  kings 
of  iM'ance.  It  was  used  as  an  emblem  of  the  l^yzantine 
emper()rs,  although  in  what  relation  it  does  not  now  appear. 
The  early  Fraid<ish  kings  also  employed  it.  There  is  a  legend, 
cpioteil  I)y  Prior,  that  a  shield  filled  with  these  tlowers  was  brought 
to  King  Clo\is  while  engaged  in  battle.  King  Louis  \TI.  adopted 
the  flower  in  June,  1 137,  as  the  national  emblem  of  iM.ance,  [)os- 
sibly   to  perpetuate  the   memory  of    some   such   event." 

The  Larger  Blue  Flag  of  our  swamps  and  meadows  is, 
perhaps,  the  most  brilliant  representative  of  the  genus  growing 
on  this  continent.  It  has  a  wide  geographical  distiibution, 
being  found  almost  etpially  common  and  luxuriant  from  Maine 
to  Miniiesot.i,  and  from  Arkansas  to  Florida.  It  grows  two  or 
three  teet  high  in  swampy  or  dam[)  places.  Its  foliage  consists 
of  long,  slender,  sword-shaped  Iea\es.  It  flowers  in  May  and  June. 
Our  plate  sufficiently  represents  the  rare  beauty  and  grace  of 
the  (lower.  A  little  study  of  its  parts,  in  nature,  will  show 
iiow  curiously  it  is  contri/cd  so  as  not  to  be  fertilized  by  its 
own  polleii  ;  but  with  great   ingeiiiousness  is  designed   to  be   fruc- 


THH    I'LOWKR    OF.    LUCK 


51 


tified  by  pollen  hroiij^ht  to  it  from  other  flowers,  by  the  bees 
aiul  other  insects,  who  visit  it  in  search  of  tlie  drop  of  nectar 
which  lies  concealed  in  its  heart.  In  "How  I'dowers  Behave," 
Professor  (iray  has  given  an  extremely  interesting  account  of 
the    methods    and    devices   by    which    this    is    done. 

1  cannot  close  this  account  of  one  of  the  chief  glories  of 
our  early-summer  flora  without  cpioting  those  e.\([uisite  lines 
addressed  to  this  flower,  from  one  of  the  sweetest  poems  with 
which    Mr.   Longfellow   has   enriched  our   liti'rature. 


FLOWER    DL    Ll'CK. 

Bc;iiitiful  lily,  clwclliiijjf  by  still  ri\L'rs 

Or  solitai}'  iiicrc. 
Or  ^vllc^c  tlio  sliiy^isli  niLMtlow-lirook  dcli\crs 

lis  waters  to  tlic  weir! 

Born  to  the  purple,  horn  to  joy  and  pieasancc, 

'riuui  dost  not  toil  nor  spin. 
But  niai<cst  t^iad  and  radiant  with  tiiv  presence 

Tile  meadow  and  the  iin. 

Tiic  wind  blows,  and  uiilil'ts  tliy  droopinji-  banner. 

Antl  round  tiiee  tiironii'  and  run 
Tiie  ruslies,  the  i;reen  yeomen  of  tliv  manor. 

The  outlaws  of  the  sun. 

Thou  art  tlie  Iris,  fair  anions^-  the  fairest, 

Wiu).  arnu'  i  with  j^oidi'n  rod. 
And  winded  with  tlu'  eelcstial  azure,  bearest 

Tile  message  ol  souk'  L;oii. 


I  il 

•'IJ 


r' 


52 


THF-    FLOWER    Dli    LUCE. 


Tlioii  art  the  Muse,  wlio,  far  from  crowded  cities, 

Ilaimtest  the  sj'ivaii  slieiinis, 
Pliiying  on  pipes  of  reed  tiie  iirtless  ditties 

That  come  to  us  as  dreams. 


O  Flower  de  luce,  bloom  on,  and  let  tlie  ri\  er 

Linger  to  kiss  tliy  I'eet  ! 
O  tlower  of  sonix.  bloom  on.  and  make  firexer 

The  worki  more  lair  and  sweet. 


fl 


THE    WILD    ORANGE-RED    LILY. 


ill 


!   11 


THF'. 


Wild   Orange-Red   Lily. 


I.I  LI  I'M  rill  L.t  mil. PiiicrM  l. 


()   lilii's,   ii])tiinK'il   lilic"^. 

How  swift  tlu'ir  prisonrd  rays 
To  smite  witii  tiro  lioin  ii(.;i\  en 

Tlio  raiiitiiitj;  Aii,mist  days  I 
Tall   urns  ol"  bliiulint;  InMiitv, 

As  vestals  pure  tliey  liold 
In  eacli  a  bla/c  ot'  searlet, 

Hall"  blotted  out  with  .liold. 

Thro'  trellised  roadway  edires. 

And  i)|ien  woodland  ranj,a'. 
\\\  mined  walls  and  hedges, 

In  every  phase  ol   ehani,a'. 
They  lilt  in  holy  vi;,fils 

The  3'ear's  uncinenehed  desire. 
And  break  the  nioseless  verdure 

With  shiftini,'  lines  ot"  tire. 

Ilhiiiic    (Inoihilc 


This,  our  most  noble  and  truly  elegant  native  Lily,  grows 
quite  common  throuohout  the  whole  of  eastern  North  America,  in 
fields  where   the  soil   is  sandy,  in  open  copses,  and   by  the  edges 


5« 


ini'.  WILD  «iuAN(;i:-Ki:i)  i.u.y. 


of  the   woods.     Tlu'  very    hiauliful   aiul    lilc-lila-    rcprc 


■.(Mitati(Mi  of 


it    which     Mr.    Spraj^uc    lias    t;ivrn    in    the    \)\aw    makes    it    (luitc 
iiniR'Ccssarv   that    1    sliouhl    riitcr    into    a    i)articuhir  (lcscrii)tion  ot 


Us  lonn  or  color, 


It   is   propagated   l)y  1) 


ulhs  or  scc( 


Is.      It  attains 


a   hci<'ht  ol 


two   feet  or   inort',  a 


'racctul    toriii,   w 


nd   llowcrs   in  Jiuu'  and  July.     Its 
ith    its    upturned,  open,   l>rilliantly  cohtred    tlower- 


cui>,  and   slender  pointed   w 


horl 


ol   ureen    lea\es, 


is  taniiliar  to  al 


|o\ers   o 


f   Nature's   lloial   uenis. 


anil 


.M 


It    earlv    attracted    the    attention    of    liotanists   in    this    country, 
t    by    Mr,    lohn    lUrtrani,   of    I'hiladelphia,  to 
dturist   of    London,  nu)re   than   one   hundred 


hulhs    Wfre    sen 


uler,  a  lainoiis   tlorici 


\ears  a-'o. 


No  doubt,  also,  it    was   from   one  ^)\    iJertram's   plants 


that   the 


'reat    l.inn.rus   nanu'd   and  descriliei 


tl 


le   species. 


The    Lilv  has   beiii    inucii   admired   in  all   a_!.;es. 


ami    has   held   a 


laii^e  phice   not   only   in    literature   and 


the   svmbolism  of  rclii^ion, 


hut   aho   in   armcri.il   an 


1   (h 


cor.Un  e 


art. 


I'olessor 


Meehai 


1    savs 


the  n.uiie  of  the   Lilv  is  ceiitemporaneous  with  histor\,  haxiiii 


<■•  hein 


Used    I) 


V    lb 


)iiK'i',    and    nieanii 


i!>    "the    most    charming    ot    tlowers. 


lie.  //7v.  I'rofessor  Wittstein 


I'lUt   the   modern,   not   the    Homeric   iiai 

lerive^    from    the    Celtic    //,   white,    referrinj;    to    tiie    color    of    the 

find    that    the    poet    has   j^iven    to 


tie 


■st   known   siiecu 


W 


tiile    we 


the    Lilv  the  adoration   of  his   heart   and   the   lovin;;    tribute  of   ids 


genius,  m    som 


and 


legend 


it     is    not     to    be    denied    tli.it    it    i- 


most    commonlv    the    white    Lil\ 


and    not    our   ijorm'ouslv-colorei 


one, 


all    I'ed   and 


til, It    has   c.irried   c.i 


pti\e   the   poet's   soul,  as 


he 


has   told    ill    melodious   \erse    how    the 


C^u 


)t'  llu'  lielil.  in  a  milk-while  m;mtlc  drest. 


The  l()\el\    I. 


il\-  \\a\  I'll  li  T  euihiiL;'  cie^l. 


ll!]f| 


TIM'     WILD    ORANdl'KKD    I.II.V. 


59 


Tlu'  author,  just  lunv  referred  to,  ([uaiiitly  tells  us  how  tlu: 
ancients  j^ave  to  the  Lily  a  miraculous  origin,  as,  indeed,  .ill  do 
to-dav,  except  the  eviilutionist,  though  not  exactly  by  the  same 
process  as   that   I)elie\ed   in   by   the  (Ireeks. 

"It  is  said  that  .i  very  excellent  yount^'  goddess,  S\l\i;i,  who 
was  as  fair  as  she  w.is  t;'ood,  had  but  a  ])oor  opinion  ol  jnpitt'r, 
who  paid  his  addresses  to  her.  Jupiter  \\;is  not  .iccustonied  to 
such  rebuffs,  and  treated  the  fair  lad\-  rather  roui;hl\  ;  but  sht: 
being  much  shocked  at  such  rudeness,  her  nose  took  suddenly  to 
hleedini;',  and  from  a  few  drops  which  fell  to  the  ground  the  red 
Lily  spruuL;  up.  The  while  Lily  is  s.iid  to  \)c  a  later  creation, 
and  to  have  sprung-  from  the  milk  of  Juno,  and,  we  are  sorry 
to  say,  when  she  was  in  a  somewhat  intoxicated  condition  from 
imbibiiii;-  too  freelv  of  nectar."  "  C'onsiderinj;-  the  more  respect.ible 
oriijin  of  the  red  LiU,"  our  autb.or  further  remarks,  "  it  sei'Uis 
scarcely  just  that  most  of  the  best  lily-poetry  has  been  i;i\en 
to  the  while." 

Liver  since  1  K\  who  is  called  "The  Lily  of  tlu'  X'alley,"  s.iid, 
warninj;'  men  ai^ainst  over-anxietv,  "  Consider  the  lilii's  ot  the 
ficKl,  how  thev  i^row;  they  toil  not,  neither  do  tlu'y  s])in  ;  \et  I 
sa\-  unto  von  that  even  Solomon  in  all  his  triors'  was  not  arrayt'd 
like  one  of  thesi',"  the  Lily  has  h.id  ;i  peculi.u-  chaim  and  intert-st 
for  the  C'hristian.  1  L-  has  always  seen  in  it  not  only  the  t'mblein 
of  a  dixine  care,  which  rej^.irds  the  luhublest  cre.ilion  with 
thouL^htful  solicitude,  but  also  tinds  it  i'\er  kt'epin;.^  memory  ot 
One,  who,  though  Kinj..;  of  Ilea\'en,  found  it  no  condescnsion 
to  be  a  lover  of  fr;i!;rant   Howers  and    tuneful   birds. 

The  Lily  has  loni;-  been  used  as  an  emblem  of  the  Iilessed 
Virgin    Mary  by  the  great  church  which   achu'es   her. 


6o 


Tin:  wii-i)  oRA\c.r.-RKi)  mly. 


•  Sccst  tliou  lliat  diadem  bi-Mulini;'  l"\v. 
As  if  niodoslly  shumiiiif;-  its  hiMiity  to  show? 
Look  at  tliosc  petals  ol"  silvery  wliite. 
(iirl  round  wilii  a  iialo  sliinin^  bri^iit. 


Tlial  lilv  i 


s  lo\el\', 


nit  l()\elier  stil 


Betl 


ilelicin  s 


A\'as  tlie  llowei-  tliat  blossomed 

And  wiiite  as  the  snow  ihoiitih  its  petals  are, 


hill; 


'I'hat  V 


in  of  \iiuins  was  laner  lar. 


THE    WILD    CLEMATIS. 


l! 


,.A^v^- 


■''H   '^' 


■'«i. 


t      >■ 


i   ,     ;;« 


3! 


,  '  '^*- 


"^ft*-''.^ 


t  ■. 


W 


■if:   **  . 


» 

it. 

rM 

4*' 

'  { 

n.; 

■fs>   4/' 

v; 

'''/       ■ 

;'* 

>-"■" 

^    "  ,.  "■ 

■JTM 


\''   ^ 


The  Wild  Clematis 

(  Virgin's  Bower.) 


CLiiM.rns  rjRciM.iwi,  l. 


Where  tlic  wooclland  streamlets  (low, 

(iiisliiiii^-  tioun   ii   rcekv   bed. 
W'iieie   tlie   lasselled  alders  ,l;i()\v, 

Liuflitly   meeting,'  ()\eiliead; 
When   the   liiilest  Ainj^ust  ilavs 

Ciive  tile   riehness   that  tliey   know. 
Then   the   Wild   Clematis  eonies. 
With   lier   wealtli   of  tan^ljcl   blooms. 

ReaehinL;-   up  ;ind   ilroo]iinL;-   low. 

Thk  Wild  Ci.kmatis,  or  \'ii-in's  W^ss^r,  is  an  attractive  native 
vine,  common  in  all  our  northern  woodlands,  especiallv  hy  the 
side  of  brooks  and  on  river  banks.  It  blooms  in  jidy  and 
Auoust  with  an  abundance  of  white,  fra-rant  llowers,  and  in  the 
fall,  when  the  seeds  are  ripened,  their  i)lumed  tails,  fine.  Ion- 
and  feathery,  cover  the  branches  with  a  -ray  ,„ist,  like  paL 
smoke.       If  oathered  at   the  ri-ht   time,  the  seeds  somewhat  firndv 


66 


THK   W  11.1)   (  i.i:MAris. 


adhere  to  till-  vine,  .iik!  thus  it  becomes  a  favorite,  aloii_y:  with 
autumn  lea\es,  tor  interior  decoration.  'The  folia,i;v  ol  the  i;ro\v- 
inj;-  phmt,  so  tniely  represcntic!  in  the  i)late,  is  extremely  L^racetul 


and   l)eau 


titul. 


Ami   lici-   I'li'sli    Icaxi's   only  >h;ulo 
Tiial   wliich   is    within   Iut   Ixjwci 

Liko  a   i.uit:iiii,   lightly   niailc, 
Half   to  hide   her   \  ii^iii    llower. 


/;.  A',  o. 


s 


o  many  curious  and  wonderful  facts  have  reciMitly  been  dis- 
co\ered  in  re^aixl  to  the  mo\ement  and  l)eha\  ior  of  plants,  and 
especiallv,  of  climbing-  plants,  that  I  thi;ik  I  can  L;ivc  my  readi'rs 
ater  i)leasure   than    to    make   the   Clematis    the    occasion   for 


no  (jre 


riefl 


V   detailim 


mu;  of  th 


e   mo 


re   strikiu''   of  them. 


h   i^ 


col 


nmonlv   thou-ht    that     there    is    an    essential,    rac 


Heal 


difference   between    the  life  of  plants    .and     animals.       "There    are 

nd    (li\-ersities    of    t;i'^^'    ''^'^     ^''^" 


differences  of  ailmirdstrations, 


same   spirit. 


Th 


c    more   closelv   we    o 


l)ser\'e    the    facts,    and    the 


mor 


•e  deeply   we    push    our    in(|uiries    int( 


the 


area 


na  of    life,  the 


more  difficult  we  hnd  it  to  make  any  division  which  shall  sepa- 
rate the  two  at  all  points.  Indeed,  we  are  constantly  beins^^ 
pressed  toward  the  conclusion  that  life  i-  one  in  all  its  lorms,— 
that  it,  th()Ui;h 

"Changed   throuixh   all.   is  yet   in   all   the   same; 
Lives  through  all    life,  extends  throuuh   all   extent, 
Spie.ids   undixided,  operates   uns]ient."' 


It 


was  once 


th 


Olll 


dit  that   motion,  or.  at  least,  locomotion,  was 


a  distinctive   mark  of  animal   life.       ISut   in   the  micro-copic  wor 


rid 


Till'    WII.I)    (  I.IMAIIS. 


67 


imuiiiRT.ihlc  phuits  arc  found  \\lii(li  possess  thr  |io\\ir  ot  loco- 
inotioii  ill  a  lii,L;h  dci^rcr.  And  now  w  i'  air  assured  thai  aiiioiii;- 
the  most  hinlilv  op^aiiized  j^rowiiiL;  pi. nits,  motion,  .'iid  not  list, 
is  till'  normal  stati'.  rrot'essor  dray,  Mr.  I)ar\\iii,  and  others, 
ha\e  made  el.ihorat.;  studiis  nl'  thi^  phase  ot'  i)|.nit  lite,  and 
unite  in  .issuriiiL;  us  that  the  stems  anil  hr.im  hes  of  j^rowiiii^ 
phiiits,  under  the  inllueiue  of  lii^hl  and  other  \  ilal  ixcitants,  .ire 
const. iiitK  in  motion,  desi  rihiii;^  m.iiiy  iorins  of  cur\es  and 
angular  figures  in  their  movements.  'I  lie  motion  is  usu.dl\  \iry 
:h)\\,  and  ean  he  detected  only  as  the  motion  of  th(  iiour  h.md 
of  a  clock   is,  1)V   markiii!^'  ils   place  at   dihereiit    times. 

('liiiiI)iii,L;  iil.uits  illuslr.ite  this  powir  ot  motion  in  .1  more  con- 
spicuous and  reinaikalile  way  than  .my  other.  Those'  most 
notable  for  this  (piality  are  the  re|;ular  twiners,  sucli  as  the  IIo|) 
and  the  Moriiin^-(  dorv,  and  those  which  climb  b\-  me.ins  of 
twiiiini;'  tendrils,  or  leaf-stalks,  as  the  I'assioiildow  er  and  the 
Clematis.  It  h.is  been  observed  tli.it  il  a  rei^ular  twiner  be 
allowed  to  i;row  up  hi;.^her  th.iii  its  support,  tlv  upptr  joints  will 
"lop  over"  and  bend  outward,  liori/ontally,  .ind  then  commence 
to  swiii!^'  around  the  point  of  last  attachmen't,  like  the  h.iiids  of 
.1  clock;  the  end  joints  of  .1  Hop  plant,  for  inst.mce,  were  obseiA'ed 
to  make  no  less  than  thirt\-sc\  en  such  rexolutions,  at  an  a\er.i!^i'  ol 
two  .md  .1  h.ilf  hours  for  each.  This  is  not  caused  by  a  twistini,'- 
of  the  stem  of  the  plant,  as  mi;^lit  be  supposed,  bir  the  joints 
would  not  be  twisted  more  than  two  or  three  times,  cwn  .alter 
so  man\-  revolutions,  .and  in  m.iiiN-  plants  the  twistin-;  is  in  a 
direction  o[»posite  to  the  motion.  It  h.is  bc-eii  iound  that  the 
revolviiiL,^  end  iA  the  ])l.int  actiialK'  rolls  owr  as  it  swini^s 
around,   so  that   what   is   the   upper  side   when   tlie   i»lant    is   in   one 


T 


().S 


I  111     w  II  i>  (  I  i:\i.\  I  IS. 


j)oint  of  tlic  liick'  will  lir  llir  under  sidi'  when  it  is  .it  tlu* 
opposite  |i(iiiit.  Till-  iiuinl)er  ;iilil  r.ile  ol  tile  re\(iliitioiis  ol'  the 
trie  I'lids  ol    iwiiiei-i   !.;ri;illv   \  aiv   in   dillereiit   speiiis. 

'I'liis  ii'.uliiii!^  out  .111(1  s\\  ini.;iii;4  .uoniid  serves  tlie  purpose  of 
t'llidini;  .i  suppoit  to  twine  .iliout,  il  tliere  is  oiu'  within  tiie 
radius  of  its  uidi'st  possible  liiile.  If  .it  .ui\-  point  il  impiiii.;cs 
as^ainst  .ui  object,  like  an  up'ii^hl  stick  or  stiinj;,  of  (ourse  the 
motion  is  ariistid,  but  that  part  of  the  ^lowini;  stein  whiiii  is 
beyond  tlu'  point  ol  eontael,  eontinues  to  swinv;  around  .ind 
so  coils   up  a'.out   the   luw    support. 

It  is  said  by  the  botanists  that  this  "sw  iiv^in;^-  .iround  the 
circle  "  of  the  twiner->  is  cuised  by  the  process  of  "growth  i^oin^  on 
in  the  cells  of  the  slim,  r.ot  on  .ill  sides  siimill.nieousU',  but  on 
one  side  at  a  time.  The  rapid  increase  of  tlu'  cells  of,  we  will 
sa\-,  ihe  north  sidi'  of  the  stem,  while  those  on  llu'  south  side 
rem.iin  at  rest,  wmild  ha\e  the  ifficl  to  make  the  stem  loiij^er 
on  th.il  side  th.m  on  the  other,  and  bend  it  o\er  tow.ird  the 
south.  Now  if  this  i^rowlh  process  creips  slowU  around  toward 
the  iMst,  tlu-  stem  will  be  slo\\l\-  bent  and  lolled  o\ir  moii'  and 
more  toward  the  west,  and,  as  the  process  continues  cpiile  around 
the  plant,  the  extremity  of  the  stem  will  be  made  to  swini^ 
around  throu;^h  the  whole  compass  of  the  circle.  Il  is  exident 
that  this  swin^ini;-  motion  of  the  end  of  the  stem  must  continue 
as  lon^  as  tlu-  process  of  i^rowth  ,m>es  on,  in  the  inteinodes,  and 
must  stop  in  rt's])ect  to  an\'  i;i\en  inlernock',  when  the  L;rowth 
process  stops  in  it.  So  we  observe  that  consecuti\-el\-,  joint 
atlcr  joint,  in  the  older  paits  of  the  pl.int,  beconus  stiff  and 
immo\able,  while  the  newer  p. ills  continue  the  motion.  Iliil  this 
exactly   .id.ipls    il    lo    the   needs    of    tlu'    situation,   tor   the   s^rowiiii^ 


I  III'.    Willi    (  I  i  \1AIIS. 


()(1 


AUil  the  motion  cnahlc  it  to  twine  and  (limh,  and  llic  stit't'ciiim^'- 
o|  tile  intciiiodfs  at  last  Urtps  it  in  plaic  as  it  is  wound  closely 
al>out    its    support. 

1  lie  trndril  and  leaf  t  liinhcis  have  those  organs  endowed 
with  a  sensili\(  iiess  or  initahiiity  whiiii  causes  \\\r  tendiii  or 
the  petiole  ol  the  leal  to  wind  alioul  aii\  small  olijcit  which 
it  is  made  to  he  in  (niitact  with  tor  ,iii\  ( ousidi  laMe  lenv;tli  of 
time.  'I'lie  end  ol'  the  stem  ot  sonu-  of  the  le.if  (lindxis,  the 
Clematis,  tor  ex.imple,  has  tlii  power  of  lotalois  motion,  like 
the  trui'  twini'is.  ihe  sensitive  leases  and  tendrils  of  all  ha\e 
this  power  in  a  marked  de,L;ree.  When  a  tendiil.  r.achinn  "'''• 
and  swinj^inj^'  around,  comes  in  contact  with  some  small  object, 
it  directly  winds  about  it  three  or  tour  times,  and  then  be!.;ins  to 
coil  up  from  the  middle,  the  coils  runnin;.;  both  wa\s,  in  ojipositc 
directions,  thus  compcnsatin!^  for  each  other,  and  not  twisting; 
the  tendril  otf.  'I'his  has  the  elfect  to  draw  the  stem  uj)  ne.ir  its 
support,  and,  at  the  same  time,  to  fasten  it  by  what  is  m  etfec  t  an 
elastic  cord,  'i'lu'  coiled  tendril  is  like  a  coiled  wire  sprinj;,  which 
allows  the  stem  to  have  considerable'  lateral  motion  under  the 
|)ressure  ot  th.e  wind,  or  other  force,  and  yet  sidfers  no  injury 
itsell,  1)\-  straining  or  bi-eakinu;,  as  it  would  if  it  remained  a 
straii^ht,  "  taut  "  strini.(. 

A  remarkably  curious  fact  is  thus  noted  l)\-  Di'.  (Iray:  "In 
riAoKin:.;-  tendrils  the  most  wonderful  thint;-  to  remark  is  the  wa\- 
in  which  they  avoid  windin;.;-  themsehes  around  the  stem  thev 
belou!.;  to.  The  acti\e  tendrils  are,  of  coiiise,  ne.ir  the  top  of 
the  stem  or  branch.  The  s^rowini;  summit  beyond  the  tendiil, 
now  seekiiiL;'  a  support,  is  often  turned  o\ei-  to  one  side,  so  that 
the   tendril,  re\ol\  Iiil;-  almost    hori/.ontall\-,  has  a  cle^u'    sw.ep  above 


\M 


'ft-' 


70 


nii:  will)  ci.iMAiis. 


it.       Hut    as    the    •jrouini;-    stem    Iciiijtlu'iis    ami    rises,    the    tendril 


niiuiiu   striki'  against   it   am 


woiiml    u\)    aroumi 


it. 


It    ne\er 


does. 


It"   w 


e   \\a 


teh    tile   sK'mlei-    rassion-I'low  tT,    which   shows  the 


re\(>l\iii!4  so  well  in  a  sulti'v  day,  we  nias'  see,  with  womKi',  that 
when  a  tiiuliil,  sweipini^'  hori./.oiitally,  eonies  aiound  so  that  its 
base  neais  the  parent  sleni  ri^ini;  ahovi'  it,  it  slops  short,  rises 
stit'lly  ui<ti_i;ht.  iiio\es  on  in  this  position  until  it  passes  by  the 
stiin,  then  rapiilh'  conus  down  ai;ain  to  the  hoiizontal  position, 
and    niovis  on   so   until    il   ai.;ain  appioaches,  and    ai^ain   axoids   the 


nnpendiui 


oiiNlaele. 


'I'hi:    ("hin.itis     is    a    true    leaf    el!nd)i!",  although     most 


the 


^peeies    h.i\e 


the    1 


)ower  ot    reN'ohim;     their  uitnnale   branches  am 


mlernodes 


to  a   ei 


rt.un   limited   extent.      Darwin   sji\es   the   rate   in 


Sl 


\ei.d   of   the    species   as   beiiiL;     fioni    three    to    ti\e    hours.       '11 


le 


st'iisitixt'    pitiole   will    eiasj 


isp   the   sma 


in    CO 


ntact    with,   in   a   jjeriod   \;\iyin;. 


1    object   which   il    is    l)rou_i;ht 
from   a   few    hours   to  one  or 


two  (lavs. 

The   l)eha\'or  of  these   twinini^-  leaf-siilks  cannot   fail    to    be    a 
matter  of  deep   interest   to  an\-  obserxanl    lo\ir  ol    nature.       d  hey 


seen 


1     to    be    incapable     of    discriininalinL;    as    to    what     they   will 


twine    around,  in    this    re>pecl   dilleriii!. 


irom 


the    tendiils    c  f    the 


ass 


ion-!' 


lower.     I 


lescribed      abo\i\     for     thev     will     freip'.ntly     1 


)e 


found  coiled    lii^hlh'   I'ound    llu-    other  branches    or    lea\is    ot    the 

and      beautiful     plant     when 


.ireiit     •-tern. 


It     is    an     interestiu'. 


piowimj,   and   not    Uss   so  when    matured    and    ripeiiei 


for, 


rill':  will)  t  i.i'MAiis. 


71 


Wlicn  tlu-  iiiitiimn  days  an-  Iumc, 

Ami  till.-  wootls  (it"  autumn  Inirn, 
'riK'ii   lu-r   KaNos  an-   black   aiul   sere, 

{^lick   witli   iMily   tVdsts  to   turn! 
As   till'  n'dlilfii   suninicr  ilit's, 

So   luT  silk\-  urcon   lias   lli-il, 
And   the  smoky  i'lusti.Ms   rise 
As  tVom  tiiL's  ot"  satiitici.', — 

Sacri'd   inecnso   to   the  tload ! 

I).  R.  a. 


^1 


Tin:  SWAMP  rosp: 


r 


t 


rr^ 


The  Swamp  Rose, 


A'O.S./    C./A'O/J.V./.    /,. 


While   wc   iinnkr   tlu'    wiratlK'd   s|inii^, 
Kcsplciulcnt    Rosi',     to   tlac    wi'll    siiil;; 
l^i'spli'iulcnt    Rosi',     tlio   lliiwrr  dt   tlnwtrs. 
W'hoNL-   hiL'iitli   perfumes  Olympus'   howi'is; 
Whose   \iii;iii   Musii,  ol  ehasteii'd  il\e, 
I'juhaiits  ^o   mueh   onr   mortal   e\e; 
Olt   has   the   jioet's   maL;ie   toiinue 
'l"he    Rose's   tair   luxiiriaiiee  sunn; 
Aiul   loni;'  the    Muses,   hea\enl\'   maids, 
Ilaxe   reaied    it   in   tiieir  tunel'id   shailes. 
When,   at   the   i.'aily   i^lanee   ol'  morn, 
it   sleeps   u|ion    the   ylisteniun   thoni. 
"Tis   swi'et    to    dare   the   tanLiletl    lenee. 
'l"o   eull    the   timid    lloweiet   tlu'nee. 
Ant!    wipe,   witli    tendei    haiui.   away 
The   teai'   that   on    it^   Mushes    la\  I 
'Tis   sweet   to   holi!   the    inlanl   stems, 
^'et    drippinu-   with    Auroia's   L;ems, 
And   fresh   iniiale  the   spie\'  siqhs 
That    troiii   the   weepini;   luiils  arise. 

.liidcrcoii. 


'fT" 


78 


Till'   su.wii'  uosi: 


W'l     ha\c    two    wilil    idM's,  (|iiitr    widely,    I    mi_u;lit    s;i\'    almost 


uni\  iTs.ilK ,  (li^ti  il)iitt(l    in    this  (i)iiiiti\,    i.isl    ol     tli; 


Mi 


sMs^ll)|)| 


Kl\  fl-. 


(  )iic   i^   II, lined    .d)o\e,  .iiid   the  othir    i->    ihi     l)w,iit'    Wild 


l\o>e 


lie   1. liter   is   llu'   more    tr.i''r.iiit,   luil    is   in    no  ollu  i'  sense 


the    nv.il     ot     tlu 


other. 


I 


w    Sw.im 


])      Rose     dilteis     lioin     its 


sm.illei'  eomp.inioii,  not  onlv  in  its  ^re.iter  si/c,  hut  in  li.i\in;^ 
the  niuh'r  side  ol  its  le,i\es  ot  .m  asluni^r.iN  lolor,  while  the 
n|)|)er  is  .1  l)rilli,int  i^ieeii,  .ind  .ilso  in  h.i\in;^  thi  idedl\  hooked 
spines,   or    tlioiiis,    whili'    those    ot'    the     l)warl    Rose    .ue    straii^^ht. 


It 


Lfrows  to  .1   hei''ht  ol    tour  to  si\  Kit,  pener.ilK  on  low    <jround 


and   lloweis    i)roliisel\-   Irom    June   through    the    summer.       In    the 


tal 


th 


e  or.nnje-hrow  n    loli,n'e    and    the    hrilli.uit    vnl   Iruit     make   it 


an   extixniely   attr.uti\e    shiuh,    .md    oltiiitimes    no    im cusiderahle 
clement    in    tlu'  coloiiii!;   ol    the   autumn    l.indscape. 

.\Ii'.  Si)iMi.;ue  has  m.ule  sueh  .m  e\i|iiisite  ])it  tine  of  this  most 
eharmin;^  wild  llowti-,  that  1  do  not  deem  it  import, int  to  m.ike 
p-irtieular   mention   of  the  details  of   its  color,   foiin,  and    h.ihits. 


Of   .ill    the   llowers   of   tin 


tield,    iioiu'    iKis    li.Kl    so    |,iii'e   a    sn.iii 


>h. 


)f    human    re''.ird    .is    the    K 


.n.it'ieon     eould    write    two 


thousand    live    hundred    wars    a;.',o    of    tlie   poets    then    .uuieiit    to 

him,   - 

'•()it    ii.iN   till-    i'oel's   inaii:ie   tMHL;iU' 

Tiu'    Rii>c's   lair   luMiriaiiee   sunt;." 


cert.iinly   we  ou!.;ht    to   be  able   to   rmd   xolumes  of    rosi'    poetr\-   in 


our     larijer    inluritance    from    th 


iiL^thenint^'    a^es    oi    the    past. 


And   we   mav.       In    soni;'  and   U'L;end,    in    politit.d    association    and 
social   and    reliijious   rite,  the    Rose   has   an   abundant    histoiA'. 


It 


was     cullnalei 


and 


admired    in 


r>ab\  Ion 


and 


erus.iiem 


mure    than   a  thousaiul    \ears    before    the    ChristicUi    era.       Homer 


Till'  SWAMP  uosr. 


79 


uses  its  hiilliant  rolois  to  paint  the  pietiiro  (>(  tin-  risin_!4-  <iiin. 
.Aurora,  acionliiij^r  to  tiiis  pen  t,  lia>  tiiij^iTs  of  losis.  and  inrtiimcs 
tiu'  air  with  tlusr  tlowci^.  I  lie  i\osi'  was  (•oiisctratci!  to  Aurora, 
or  tiic  MorniiiL;,  and  aUo  to  I  Iai|io(  ratc^,  tiic  patron  ot  silence,  ol 
wiiieii  it  is  consiilered  th<'  s\inl)o|.  lleiuc  .iidse  the  eNpression, 
s///>  iv<(i,  under  the  rose,  wliiih  siiinities  th,it  all  thini^s  said 
unde'r  tli.it  h.m  should  he  held  .is  priv.ite,  and  not  to  he  repe.ited. 
It  w.is  a  not  inlre(|uent  eustoin  to  snspend  a  rose  over  the 
tahle  in  the  h.iiKpntiu!.;  h.ill,  to  remind  the  i^uests  that  all 
uttcrantx's   tlu're   should    i)e  considered  sii(>   j'l'^it. 

'Idle  niir.iculous  and  divine  orii^in  ol  the  Rose  is  repri'sented 
in  many  laMes  of  the  mythole;Jes.  'llu'  most  sij^niiie.ml  is, 
perh;i]is,  tlu'  (ollowiiin-,  for  it  shows  how  nuieh  the  (irLcks  must 
h.i\e  pri/'d  ;md  .ulmind  a  llower  wliivh  tlie\'  called  in  tin-  whoK' 
court  of  IIea\('n  to  help  cre.ite.  A  f.ixorite  Wniph  of  I'lor.i's 
r()\al  tr.iin,  whose  ran'  beauty  w.is  ccpi.dled  (iid\  li\-  her  purit\' 
and  i;o()dness,  was  one  day  found  de.id.  The  '  hieen  of  Idowers 
theri'upon  solieited  the  aid  of  .all  the  Ohmpic  deitie>  to  ch.ui!.;e  the 
"inanimate  clay"  into  a  llower  which  should  iitl\-  ci.mmemor.ite 
on  earth  ;i  dixinc  creature  so  sweet  .md  beautiful.  So  A])ollo 
lent  the  life-i^ix  inj^  power  of  his  bt.ims,  Ilaichus  bathed  li  m 
nectar,  X'ertumnus  _i;;i\e  it  perfume,  while  his  wife,  i'omona, 
added  fruit.  Flor.i  herself  _i;a\e  it  its  diadem  of  llowers,  and 
called  it  a  Rose.  The  (ireeks  were  ne\er  forgetful  of  I'lora's 
wish  to  ha\c  this  beautiful  creation  of  her  tinder  lo\c  ;md  hei' 
consummate  skill  considered  and  honortil  as  thj  (Jueen  of 
Flowers.  And  I  conless  I  do  not  think  Nature  has  e\er,  liefore 
or  since,  produced  a  plant  which  could  successfully  dispute  the 
loval   title  with  the  Rose. 


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Photographic 

Sciences 
Corporation 


\A.  Ill  1.6 


23  WEST  MAIN  STREET 

WEBSTER,  N.Y.  M5B0 

(716)  872-4503 


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80 


THF.    SWAMP    ROSE. 


There  is  a  straiisji-e,  thoui^^h  probably  an  unintentional  sng'- 
j:^esti\L'ncss  in  this  old  fable,  which  i;ives  \'ertuninus  and 
Pomona  both  a  hand  in  its  creation,  in  the  fact  that  the  Rose 
belons^s  and  gi\es  its  name  to  that  order  of  plants  which  fur- 
nishes us  with  all  our  common  fruits,  from  the  apple  and  i)ear 
to  the   raspberry  and   plum. 

The  presence  of  thorns  on  the  Rose  tree,  which  has  ^iven 
rise  to  the  pro\'erb,  "  No  rose  without  its  thorn,"  is  accounted  for 
in  different  wa\s  in  the  ancient  authors  and  lei;ends.  Basil,  a 
theoiot;ian  of  the  early  Cdiristian  centuries,  savs  it  is  :i  result  of 
the  fall  of  man,  and  the  corruption  o{  the  world  bv  the  human 
race.  A  jjoet  has  put  the  same  though':  in  a  more  fanciful 
shape,  in  tellir'g  how,  when  H\e  sought  to  come  at  the  tree  of  the 
forbidden  fruit,  she  ruth!e-sly  trampled  on  the  Rose,  which,  with 
other  jilants,  fenced  the  sacred  tree  about,  and,  at  this  violence, 
and  on   account  of  its  sense  of  shame  at   ILve's  conduct, 

"  Tlu'   nativt.    wliitc  its  petals   left, 
\\'liicli.  blusliiiiL;-,  tuiiioil   to   red." 

This  accounts  .also  for  the  co1(M-  and  true  Ijeautv  of  the  Rose, 
and  to  many  will  be,  at  least,  some  compensation  for  the 
unfortunate  j)erformance  of  our  respected  maternal  ancestor. 
Hut  the  thorns  came  by  the  same  cause,  for, 

"  V.w  tliis  e\ciit  ot'  sill   ami   sliamo, 
Xo   inickly   thdnis   were   touml: 
I>ut   now  they   hurst   Ironi   e\ei\'   stem. 
Ami    witii   the   rose   abouiui." 

Another   poet    has   gixen    a    still    more    poetical,    and    quite    as 


I 


i 


rilF.    SWAMP    Rosr.. 


8i 


probable,  reason  for  tlic  thorns  and  the  brilliant  red  of  the 
Rose,  in  the  following  legend.  CLii)id,  eoniing  along  one  bright 
morning,  found  a  splendid  white  rose,  which  he  stood  ga/.ing  upon 
with  rapturous  delight.  IJut,  as  the  tlower  itself  relates,  unknown 
to  him, 

"  It  chaiK'L'd  a  lico  was  \)\\s\-  there, 

SeareliiiiLi'  '•""  i'^  tra^raiil  lai\-; 

^\iul  L'upid,  st(}()piii;4-  ti)().  to  sip, 

'I'lie  anL;i-\-  insect  sIuiil;-  his  \'\\t  — 

Ami  giishiiit;'  ti'diii  tlie  amlirosial  eell. 

One  biiniil  tlroji  on  mv  bosom  fell  I 

AX'eepin^,  to  iiis  mother  lie 

'J'oid  the  tale  ol"  treaehei'\' ; 

And  she  her  \en!4-el\d  lio\-  to  please, 

Struntj  his  bow  with  captive  liees; 

Hut  )ilaced  upon  ni}'  slender  stem 

The  ]ioisonetl  stiii','-  she  plucked  from  them: 

And  none,  siiice  that  eventful  morn, 

IIa\e  toiuul  the  llower  without  a  thorn." 


Since  the  earliest  times,  Roses  have  been  used  in  social  fetes 
antl  festivals,  for  crowns  and  garlatids ;  in  religious  rites  for 
decorating  the  altars,  shrines,  and  images  of  the  gods;  and  in 
funeral  ceremonies,  and  memorial  serxices,  by  bi'ing  scattered 
freely  upon  the  coffin,  or  planted  bv  the  gra\-e,  and  in  after  vears 
heaped  upon  the  monument  or  wreathed  about  the  urn  holding 
the  precious  dust.  Tiins  .ire  we  but  re\i\'ing  an  old,  ohl 
custom,  when  we  with  re\'erenl  hand  jjlace  a  wrtath  upon  the 
resting-place  of  our  "  Martvred  Diad  "  on  "  Decor.ition  I)a\-,"  or 
when  we  pay  the  tribute  i^(  priwite  griif  to  (Uparted  Icned  ones 
by  bringing  garhinds  of  fragrant  flowers  to  lay  upon  the  green 
sod  above  their  still   forms. 


ff^:^ 


I  1 


82  THF,    SWAMP    ROSE. 

"RriniT  flowers  ji  crown  tlic  cup  and  lute, — 
liriiiLT  llowiM's  —  the  bride  is  near; 
Briiii;'  tlowers  to  soothe  tiie  ca|Ui\e"s  cell, 
BriiiLC  flowers  to  strew  tiie  bier!" 

The  Rose  has  s^nven  its  name  to  one  of  the  saered  titcnsils 
of  the  Roman  Cliiirch,  the  rosary,  which  is  specially  dedicated  to 
the  X'iroin  Mary,  each  of  the  small  beads  markini^^  an  .7rr 
Afnria,  and  each  of  the  laroe  ones  a  Pafci'  Nostcr  recited.  The 
name  is  supposed  to  have  come  from  the  fact  that  the  X'irs^in  is 
often  called   the  rosa  iiiys/iai,  or  "Mystic   Rose"  of  the  Church. 

'•Our  Lady  of  tiie  Rosary! 

W'liat  name  can  be  so  sweet. 
As  what  we  call  thee  when  we  place 
Our  chaplets  at  thy  teet." 

She  is  also  called  "  Saint   Mary  of  the   Rose." 

First,  take  tliese  crimson  roses, 

How  red  tiieir  petals  jijow! 
Red  as  tlie  blood  of  Jesus. 

Which  heals  our  sin  and  woe. 

See  in  each  heart  of  crimson 

A  deeper  crimson  shine! 
So  in  the  foldings  of  our  hearts 

Should  glow  a  love  divine. 

Adelaide  Proctor. 

The  political,  economical,  and  medicinal  history  of  the  Rose, 
woidd  each  make  a  chapter  of  itself.  In  the  days  of  chivalry 
the  eallant  kni'dits  often  decorated  their  shields  or  helmets  with 
roses,  "implving  that  sweetness  should  always  be  the  companion 


HH    SWA.Ml'    ROSE. 


83 


of  courage,  and  that  beauty  was  tin;  only  prize  worthy  of 
valor. " 

The  "Wars  of  the  Roses,"  so  called,  make  one  of  the  blood- 
iest and  s  iddest  pages  of  Hnglish  history.  The  Count  of  Hgniont, 
the  foumler  of  the  House  of  Lancaster,  as  early  as  1277  adopted 
for  his  heraldic  dexice  the  Red  Ivose,  which  Thibaut,  Count  of 
Hrie,  a  French  nobleman,  had  brought  home  with  him  from 
Syria,  in  the  wars  of  the  Crusades.  It  may  have  been  a  Uamask 
Rose,  which  is  a  nati\e  of  Damascus,  and,  therefore,  of  Syria. 
The  House  of  York  had  atlopted  the  White  Rose  for  its  heraldic 
emblem,  and  the  thirty  years  of  civil  war  between  the  powerful 
factions  contending  for  the  crown,  drenched  Kngland  with  the 
best  blood  of  the  realm.  Nor  was  the  sanguinary  strife  ended 
until  the  two  rival  houses  were  united  in  (Mie  by  the  marriage  of 
Henry  \TI.  with  Iilizal)eth  of  \'ork,  and  the  Tudor  sovereigns 
took  as  their  badge  a  Rose,  half  red,  half  white,  emblematical 
of  the  union  of  the  rival  houses.  This  has  continued  to  be  the 
recognized  emblem  of  England  in  the  same  way  that  the  Thistle 
and  Shamrock  (probably  the  w ootl-sorrel,  not  the  clover)  have 
been  dedicated    to   Scotland   and    Ireland,   respectively. 

Many  almost  incredible  stoiies  are  told  of  the  extravagant 
luxury  and  magniticence  of  the  Roman  emperors  and  other 
eastern  despots,  in  connection  with  the  use  and  cultivation  of  the 
Rose,  -of  the  profuse,  almost  lioundless,  emi)loynient  of  them 
in  ministering  to  their  pleasure  and  luxuriousness.  Some  ot 
them  are  said  to  have  slept  on  pillows  of  rose-lea\es.  And  it  is 
related  that  Cleopatra,  in  a  feast  given  to  Mark  Antony  and 
his  friends,  one  day  had  the  th)or  of  the  bancpieting  hall  bedded 
in   roses  a  foot   and    a    half    deep,    ard    held  down   by   a    fine    net- 


l':''!l 


i;      '1 

'     ti 


'r— 


84 


Till':    SWAM  I'    KOSIC. 


work,  so  that  the  company  walked  upon  them,  a  most  costly  and 
Iraj^rant  car[)et.  Nero,  at  a  sins^le  feast,  given  at  Bala-,  spent 
one  hundred  thousanil  dollars  on  roses  alone.  The  ability  to 
command  such  a  threat  supply  of  these  ijeautiful  l)Ut  short" 
lived  ilowers  implies  that  a  i^reat  deal  of  Labor  and  skill  was 
expended  in  the  cidlivation  of  them,  ind  that  immense  gardens 
and  great  fields  were  devoted  to  their  growth  in  the  neighbor- 
hood of  the  capitals  and  centres  of  civilization  of  the  ancient 
world. 

Of  the  (iolden  Rose,  which  it  was  the  custom  for  the  pope 
to  send  to  the  most  wise  or  virtuous  prince  among  all  who 
held  allegiance  to  the  church,  —  of  the  attar  of  roses,  the 
most  delicate,  precious,  and  costly  perfume  known  to  the  arts,  of 
the  manner  of  making  it,  and  of  the  great  prices  paid  for  it, — 
and  of  many  other  such  things  1  must  not  take  the  space  to 
write.  l)Ut  of  the  sentimental  symbolism  of  the  Rose,  I  must 
be  permitted  just  to  make  mention  in  closing.  I'rom  time 
immemorial  it  has  been  dedicated    to    the    strongest    ami    noblest 

passion    which   dwells    in    the    human    heart, Love,  —  and    it    is 

everywhere  reckoned  the  fittest  emblem  of  a  fair  and  virtuous 
maidenhood,  at  once  the  object  and  the  shrine  of  the  tenderest 
and  purest  love. 


'I'lic  Rose  is  fairest  wlicii  'tis  biiddin<^  new, 

Ami  Hope  is  liriLrhtest  wlu'ii  it  dawns  Ironi  fears: 

The  Rose  is  sweetest  wasiied  \\  itii  niorninif  dew, 
And  I^()\e  is  loNcdicst  wiicn  embalmed  in  tears. 

Scotl. 


THi:  swA.Mr  Kosi:. 

Dear  Hovvor  ol  llcavon  and  Love!  tlK)U  ylorious  tliin<r, 
'riiat  lookcst  out  the  t^anlcii  nooks  anion^-; 
Rose,  tliat  art  ever  fair  and  i.\er  yoiuiir; 
Was  it  sonic  ani;cl  or  in\  isiblc  \vin<x 
Ilovcrcd  around  tliy  iVaiijrant  sleep,  to  IlinLT 
His  glowing  mantle  ol"  sunset  lines 
C)"er  tiiy  unloidini;-  ]ietals,  wet  witli  (le^\■s 
Such  as  the  Hower-fays  to  Titania  brinu'"" 
O  tlower  oi  tliousand  memories  and  dreams. 

Tliat  take  tlie  heart  with  liiintness  wliile  we  gaze 
(Jii  the  rieh  dejitlis  ot'tlu'  inwo\en  maze; 
From  the  rieh  banks  ot"  I-'den's  blessed  streams 
I  dreamed  thee  brought,  (jt' brighter  days  to  tell. 
Long  passed,  but  promised  yet  with  us  to  dwell. 

C.  P.  C I  a  mil. 


■  i  v. 
i  „ti 


k  f 
i|  i 


in 


THE    WATER    LILY. 


"(T 


I . 


t]-  -  ^■■ 


i    I 


The  Water  Lily. 


NYMPIl^E.!   OnOliATA,  All. 


"  Mark  where  transparent  waters  glide, 
Soft  tlowinL;'  o'er  traiuiuil  bed; 
'I'here,  eradled  on  llie  tliiiiiiliiiL;'  tide, 
Nympha'a  i-ests  iier  lo\ely  head; 

But.  eonseious  ol"  the  earliest  beam, 
Siie  rises  I'rom  lier  iiumid  nest. 

And  sees  relleeted  on  tiie  stream 

The  \iri,Mn  wiiiteness  ot'  iier  breast  — 

""J'ill  the  briii'lit  day-star  to  the  west 
Deebnes,  in  Oeean's  surne  to  la\'e; 

Tlicn,  folded  in  her  modest  \  est 

She  slumbers  on  the  rockini;-  wave." 


Till'  swect-sccntcd  \V;itcr  Lily  is  a  native  of  this  country, 
ami  is  one  of  our  finest  contribtitions  to  the  floral  treasures  ot 
the  world.  lUit  its  nearest  li\ini;-  relative,  the  X.  Iciica  of  the 
(ireeks,  the  N.  alba  of  the  modern  botanist,  has  lono  Ijcen  known 
and  admired  by  both  raturalist  and  poet.  It  is  mentioned  by 
Pliny,  and   some    of    the    very  earliest    Creek    writers.       It    differs 


!  i 

f 
I 


92 


THK    WATI'R    LILY. 


from  the  more  elegant  llowcrs  (it  our  ponds  and  still-runninsf 
streams  onlv  in  beinj.,''  somewhat  smaller,  less  odoriterous,  and  in 
ha\in;^-  more   stron.i^ly   veined   leaves. 

The  ;^enus  was  ehristened  by  the  Creeks,  and  derives  its 
name  from  the  old  belief  that  Xymi)hs  and  Naiads  dwell  in,  and 
preside  over,  j^entlv  tlowint;-  streams,  and  the  limpiil  waters  ol 
plaeid   lakelets,  where 

'•  l>r().ul  wliito  lilirs  lie  trcniulously. 
Ami  st;iiT\   ri\  (.■r-lnuls  ^iilnmc'r  by. 

And  around  thcni  the  sntt  stream  dotli  glide  and  dance 
With  a  motion  ol' sweet  sound  anil  radiance." 

The  species  is  widelv  dislrilnited  in  this  country,  and  is  a 
universal  favorite  with  all  classes.  It  certainly  deserves  all  the 
admiration  it  receives,  for  it  is  not  easy  to  ima,o;inc  a  tlower 
which  combines  any  rarer  charms  of  form  and  fras^rance  than 
are  found  in  this  tloral  Nymph.  Althouoh  it  seldom  departs 
from  its  tv])ical  coU)r  of  pure  white,  inclosino'  the  o()l(lcn  yellow, 
or  as  Sir  Walter  Scott  describes  it  growing-  in   Loch    Katrine, — 

"  The  w.'iter  lily  to  the  liijiit 
lier  eliaiice  reared  ol' silver  briirlit," 

yet,  she  sometimes,  in  this  country,  deigns  to  paint  her  fair  face 
with  a  blush  of  delicate  pink.  The  ponds  and  lakes  of  Cape 
Cod,  and  esi)eci;illy  those  about  Falmouth,  Massachusetts,  are 
famous  for  these  strange  blossoms  of  the  Water  Lily,  which  seem 
to  have  caught  some  of  the  glow  of  the  rosy  morn  upon  the 
pure  white  of  their  expanded  petals. 

There  are  few  flowers,   native  to  our  fields   and    forests,  which 


1 1 


THE    WAIIIK    I.ILY. 


93 


make  a  longer  season  of  it  with  their  blooming  than  the 
Water  Lily.  Says  Colonel  lligginson,  an  observer  of  rare  aeeu- 
racy,  speakin,L(  of  the  Mountain  Laurel  and  the  Water  Lily: 
"At  the  same  time  with  this  royalty  of  the  woods,  the  cjueen  of 
the  water  ascends  her  throne,  for  a  reii^n  as  undisputed  and  far 
more  prolonged.  The  extremes  of  the  Water  Lily  in  the  \iein- 
ity  of  Boston,  so  far  as  I  have  known,  are  the  iSth  of  June 
and  the  13th  of  October,  —  a  Ioniser  ranye  than  belons^^s  to  any 
other  conspicuous  wild  flower,  unless  we  except  the  Dandelion 
and  the    Houstonia." 

The  Water  Lily  is  always  associated  with  thoui^hts  of  cool 
and  shady  streams,  and  wood-bordered  lakes,  which,  in  glassy 
stillness,  embosom   in   their  depths  a  world  of  sky  and  clouds. 

Oil,  heautiful  tliou  art, 
Tlioii  sciilpturc-likc  aiul  stately  Rivor-quccii! 
Crowning  llio  di'pths,  as  with  the  liglit  serene, 

Ola  pure  Iieart. 

Hri^rht  lily  of  the  \va\  e! 
Rising  in  tearless  grace  uitii  every  swell, 
Thou  seem'st  as  if  a  spirit  nieeklv  brave. 

Dwelt  in  tli\  eeil. 

Lilting  alike  tiiy  iiead 
Of"  placid  beauty,  I'eniinine.  \et  iVce, 
Whether  with  foam  or  pictured  a/ure  spread, 

The  waters  be. 


The  Water  Lily  comes  of  a  noble  family,  a  family  which  can 
boast  the  classical  and  sacreil  Lotus  of  the  storietl  Nile,  and  the 
royal  and  gigantic  I'ictofia  n-gia    of    the    lordly  Amazon,   among 


If 


94 


THK    WATER    LILY. 


i    I 


its  scions.  Yet  this  ocntle  flower  has  a  humijle  spirit;  and,  like 
a  human  soul  which  is  both  pure  and  wise,  is  content  to  rest 
upon  the  low  level  of  its  api)ointed  place,  and  contribute  only 
beauty  and   sweetness   to  the   wt)rld's  s^reat   treasury  of  i;ood. 

Thou.nh  the  Water  Lily  is  not  named  in  the  following;-  lines  from 
Hryant,  who  was  more  truly  nature's  poet  than  any  Mnt^lish- 
SDeakine  writer,  sa\e  Wordsworth,  yet  we  cannot  be  mistaken  in 
assumini;"  that  the  "snow-white  flower"  which  the  "innocent  child" 
heUl  in  its  h.unl  as  the  Attest  emblem  of  its  innocency  was  a 
white   Water    Lily. 

Inn(n.H'iit  child  and  snow-white  (lower! 
Well  are  \e  ]iaired  in  Nour  ojieninL;  hour. 
Thus  should  the  pure  ami  the  lo\el}'  meet. — 
Stainless  u  ith  stainless,  and  sweet  with  sweet. 

•     White  as  those  leaves,  just  blown  a]iart; 
Are  the  folds  of  thy  own  youn<r  heart; 
Guiltv  passion  and  eankerin^  e;irc 
Never  have  lel't  their  traces  there. 

Artless  one!   though  thou  aazest  now 
O'er  the  white  blossom  with  earnest  brow. 
Soon  will  it  tin'  thy  childish  eye; 
Fair  as  it  is,  thou  wilt  throw  it  liy. 

Throw  it  aside  in  thy  weary  hour. 
Throw  to  the  ground  the  lair  white  tlower; 
Yet,  as  thy  tender  years  depart. 
Keep  that  white  and  innocent  heart. 


THE    MOCCASIN    FLOWER. 


»p;i : 


r 


!       I 


11 : 


i'  PI 


I    I 


i1;' 


I  m 


f   'III 


The   Moccasin    Flower 


(Lady's  Slipper.) 


cvrRirnniiM  .n\i (/./■,  .nt. 


Flowers,  as  tlio  clianuiiiii  seasons  roll  aloiifi, 

Still  wail  on  eartii,  and  added  beauties  lend; 
Arcjimd  tlic  smilinu''  Spring,  a  lo\ely  ihrony. 

With  eaLrer  rivalry  her  steps  attend ; 
Others  with  Summer's  hrii;lUer  ulnries  blend: 

Some  t,n-aee  wilil  Autunni"s  more  majestie  mien; 
While  some  lew  liiii;erini;-  blooms  the  brow  betrieiul 

or  hoary  Winter,  anil  with  L;raee  seii'iie. 

Knwreath  the  kiiii;-  of  Storn.s  with  merey's  tender  slieen. 

luuloii. 

M\sterious  rouiull    what  skill,  what  t'oree  di\ine, 

Deep  I'elt.  in  these  appear!      A  simple  train, 

"S'et  so  delisj,htt'ul  mi\\l.  with  sueh  kind  art, 

Siieh  beaut\-  anil  benetieenee  combined; 

Shade,  un|iereei\ed.  so  solleninti'  into  shaile; 

And  all  so  Ibrminu  one  harmonious  whole; 

That  as  thev  still  succeed,  they  ravish  still. 

But  wanderin.n'  olt.  with  brute  unconscious  i;azo. 

Man  marks  not  Thee,  marks  not  the  mighty  hand 

That.  e\er  busy,  wheels  the  silent  sjiheres; 

Works  in  the  secret  deep;   slujots,  slreamint:-,  thence, 

The  lair  iiroliision  that  o'erspreads  the  SpriiiL;-. 

'llioinsoiu 


ill' 


lOO 


Illli    MOICASIN    I  I.OWICK. 


Ii  is  wdith  wliili',  however,  to  iioticr  that  "the  fair  profusion 
that  o'lispnads  the  Spriiij^"  coiiU's  with  somi'tiuii^  of  the  same 
clctiiiiti'  ri'f^iiiaiit)- with  which  the  "silent  spheres"  wheel  their  course 
thi-oin;h  the  heavens.  These  never  miss  an  ap|iointnu'nt,  he  tiiey 
"silvery  moon"  or  "  hlazini;'  stars,"  by  so  niiuh  ;is  a  siiade  of  a 
sieond.  It  was  a  fancy  of  l.iiniaiis  to  couNtnul  a  lloral  (hxk, 
or  siiiulial,  by  phintin^'  a  circle  of  llower>  in  tlu'  j.;ar(len,  whose 
time  of  ojjenini;'  siunild  mark  the  hours  of  the  (la\.  Thoui^h, 
perhaps,  they  would   not   keep  time  to  the  fraction  of  a   minute,  \'et, 

'•'Twii^  a  l()\i'l\-  tli(itiL;lit  to  iiiaik  tlie  Ikuiis, 
As  tliey  lldated  in  Hli'Iu  away. 
My  the  opL'iiiiii;-  ami  tlu-  liiidiiiL;  llowcis. 
That  hiiiL;ii  to  the  summer's  tlay." 

There  is  a  law  which  governs  the  vearlv  hlootuin;^  of  the 
plants,  which  is  cpiite  as  orderly  as  that  which  assigns  to  them 
the  hour  of  the  day  when  they  shall  open  and  shut  their  bril- 
liant eyes.  Most  careful  botanists  are  acipiainted  with  this 
h.ibit  of  the  pl.'uits  which  they  study.  Emerson  says  th.it  Tho- 
ri'au  "  thoui;ht  th.it  if  w.iked  up  from  ;i  trance  in  a  Concord 
swam]),  he  could  tell  by  the  plants  wh.it  time  of  year  it  w;is 
within  two  d.iys."  No  doubt  he  could,  for  hv  was  ;i  close 
observer  of  Nature's  habits,  and  he  had  found  out  that  what  is 
lawless  confusion  to  the  uninstructed,  is  but  ;in  orderlv  profusion 
to  him  who  is  acipiainted  with  the  almost  startlini;-  exactness  of 
Nature's   ])rocesses. 

That  day  as  they  walked,  Kmerson  says:  "lie  looked  for 
Mciiyaiitlics,  '  lUick  bean,'  detected  it  across  the  wide  pool,  and 
on  examination  of  the  florets,  decided  that  it  had  been  in  Howcr 
five  days.       He  drew  out  of  his  breast-pocket  his  diary,  and  read 


•rill      MOCCASIN     I  LOW  I' U. 


lOI 


the  names  of  all  tin-  plants  that  should  hlooin  on  this  day. 
whereof  ill'  kc'i»l  account,  as  a  hanker  v  lun  his  notes  tall  due; 
'The  Cypripi'diuni   not  due  till   tn morrow.' " 

'"'ro-niorrow  '  in  llusc  parts,"  says  1  liLjy^inson,  "means  about 
the  20tli  ol'  May.  it  Itilon^s,"  he  continues,  "to  the  laniily  <>l 
Orchids,  a  hii^^h-hriil  race,  fastidious  in  habits,  sc'usitivc:  as  to 
•  ihodcs."  Most  Orchids  :uv  rare'  in  our  N'ortlurn  Idora,  .md  Mt. 
he  observes,  as  most  who  hase  leathered  these  (harming;  plants 
must  ha\-e  often  fell,  that  e\en  this  species,  as  abundant  as  it  i>, 
"  ret.iins  the  family  trails  in  its  jjcrson,  and  nextr  loses  it-,  high- 
born air.  and  its  delicate  scininj;.  1  know  a  i^rove  ^  here  it 
can  be  ^.ithered  by  the  hundreds,  within  a  h.df-.;cri',  and  \-el  I 
can  never  divest  myself  of  the  feelin-'  that  each  specimen  is  a 
choice   no\-eUv."       it  certainly   is  choice,  if  it   is  not   .i  noxclty. 

It  throws  in  both  dry  and  damj)  woods,  under  evergreens  and 
deciduous  trees  alike.  I  h.ive  found  it  plentiful  in  all  these 
situations,  about  Taunton,  Massachusetts;  and  my  memory  ol  its 
rare  cb.arms,  as  I  leathered  it  by  the  streams  on  the  northern 
spur  of  the  Alle-hany  Mountains,  in  Western  reimsylvania.  in 
my  boyhood  days,  now  more  than  thirty  years  as^o,  is  as  tredi 
and  deli;<htful  as  thou;<h  it  were  but  yesterday.  I  have  taken  it 
from  the  middle  of  May  to  near  the  end  of  June,  and  I  do  not 
doubt   it   mav   be  found   throui^hout    the   latter  month. 

'i"o  any  who  appreciate  curious  forms  as  well  as  uracetul 
outlines  and  brilliant  colors,  there  can  be  no  wild  ilower  of  our 
W(r)dlands  more  attractive  than  the  pink  Lady's  Slipper.  It 
certainly  cannot  be  necessary  that  I  should  adel  a  word  of  praise 
for  the  work  of  the  artist,  to  any  who  have  seen  the  plant  as 
well   as  the  jjicture.       It  speaks  for  itself. 


+1 


1:; 


!       I 


I  02 


THE    MOCCASIN"    M.OUIIK. 


I  havi'  had  frctiiicnt  occasion  in  these  papers  to  note  how  the 
most  beautiful  flowers  have  i)ecoiiie  associated  witii  the  na.ine  or 
memory  of  the  I  Messed  \'irgin.  Indeed,  it  seems  to  he  a  pas- 
sion with  the  re\-erent  chihh-en  of  the  Church,  to  dedicate  the 
most  i)i:autiful  things  of  earth  to  Her,  who,  in  their  thought,  is 
tile  most  beautiful  beiuL;  in  he.i\en.  Our  present  flower  is  not 
an  exception.  While  the  t^eneric  name  sii^nities  \'enus'  Slipper, 
and  Americans  ha\-e  called  it  the  Moccasin  I'lower  fr;)m  its 
marked  resendilance  to  the  foot-cox'erin;^-  of  the  Al)ori<';ines,  the 
popular  name  j;i\en  to  the  common  species  of  France,  C.  Ca/cco- 
//is,  is  "  Sal)ot  de  la  \'ier^e, '  and  "Soulier  de  Notre  Dame,"  or 
"  Our  Lady's   Slipper." 

Like  most  of  the  Orchids,  it  has  an  arrangement  of  parts 
which  renders  it  very  difficult,  if  not  impossible,  to  he  fertilized 
by  its  own  pollen.  The  stamens  and  jiistils  are  united  into  a 
sins^le  or^^-ln  called  the  "Column,"  which  projects  forward  from 
the  stem  into  the  opeii  space  at  the  top  and  within  the  sark- 
like  labellum,  or  "lip."  The  stamens  lie  back  of  the  stii^nia  in 
;;uch  a  position  that  the  pollen  could  not,  excc])!  by  the  help  of 
insects,  or  other  artificial  means,  be  transferred  from  the  one  to 
the  other.  Hut  the  flower  is  admirably  contri\ed  so  as  to  solicit, 
and  use,  the  h  dp  which  such  insects  as  bees  and  flies  may  brini^- 
to  it.  The  lari,>-e,  t^ay!) -colored,  pendant  l)an-,  which  makes  the 
most  conspicuous  ])art  of  the  flower,  is  opened  with  a  narrow- 
slit  down  the  front,  and  the  edges  of  the  opening  are  turned 
inward.  This  forms  a  regular  trap,  easy  to  get  into,  but  cpiite 
impossible  to  get  out  of,  at  least  by  the  same  door.  The  "  busy 
bee,"  searching  for  toothsome  morsels,  easily  penetrates  to  the 
interior    of    this    floral    sack    through    the    narrow      open      door. 


TIIIC    MOCCASIN    FI.OWT'R. 


lO. 


Once  in,  and  satisfied,  he  looks  al)out  liini  tor  a  way  out.  lie 
funis  it  at  last,  hut  not  by  the  wav  he  came  in.  At  the  toj)  of 
the  tlower,  on  either  side  of  the  "Cdluinn,"  he  tuids  a  ])assa_i;e 
into  the  open  air,  (|uite  wide  enoui^h  for  a  small  hut  eiiterprisinn- 
bee  to  push  his  way  through.  In  doint;'  this,  ho\\c\cr,  he 
brushes  ai^ainst,  and  fre([uently  carries  away  upon  his  hairy  sides 
or  hack,  the  stickv  pollen  mass  of  the  open  anthers.  Now,  if  he 
enters  another  fl;)\\cr  of  the  same  s])ecies,  as  he  will  he  very 
likely  to  do,  and  in  due  time  m;d-;es  his  exit  through  the  only 
o])cn  door,  he  will  certaiidy  i;et  some  of  this  pollen  on  the 
stii^Muatic  surface  of  that  flower,  and  fertilize  it.  For  the  stij^nia 
is  covered  with  minute  papill.e,  like  the  teeth  of  a  hetchel,  which 
project  forward,  and  the  pollen  is  effectually  ctMubed  oft  him  as 
he  i^'oes  by.  Notwithstanding  this  elaborate  coniriwuicc  for 
fertilization,  and  this  curious  adaptation  of  means  to  that  end, 
it  remains  true,  as  we  are  assured  1)V  !.;-ood  ol^scrxers,  that  few 
plants  are  e\er  fertile,  they  bcins.;'  chiefl)'  propagated  by  the  roc^t, 
which   keeps  its   life   from   vear  to  vear. 

This  has,  apparently,  not  been  a  fiuorite  with  tb.e  poets. 
Only  one  American  sont^ster  has  chanted  its  praises,  so  far  as  I 
know,  and  she  has,  I  am  j^lad  to  see,  devoted  her  youn;.;-  muse 
mostly    to  our  l)eautiful    wild    tlowers. 

^'et  sliy  ami  jiroud  ainoiii;-  the  Uiwsi  tlciwei>. 

In  niaidcn  soliliulc. 
Is  one  wlujsc  eharni  is  ik'nct  wliolly  ours. 

Nor  \  icldcil  to  our  luooil; 
One  true-horu  lilossmii,  native  to  our  skies, 

We  dare  not  claini  as  kiii.  — 
Nor  frankh'  seek  lor  all  that  in  it  lies, 

Tlie  Indian's  Moeeasiii. 


1.' 

I  :  I 


i: 


104 


THli;    MOCCASIN    FLOVVKR. 

Graceful  and  tall  the  slender  drooping  stem, 

With  the  liroad  leaves  below. 
Shapely  the  tlower  sc,  lightly  poised  between, 

And  warm  her  rosy  glow; 
Yet  loneliest  rock-strewn  haunts  are  all  her  bent; 

She  heeds  no  soft  apjieaK 
And  they  alone  who  dare  a  rude  ascent, 

1  k  i-  eijual  charm  may  feel. 
For  liLihtlv  e\er  falls  the  tireless  foot. 

That's  only  shod  with  tlowers! 
No  lagging  step  outruns  the  liappy  days. — 

Our  tread  is  soft  as  rain; 
With  careless  joy  we  tread  the  woodland  ways, 

And  reach  her  broad  domain. 
Thro'  sense  of  strength  and  beauty,  free  as  air. 

AVe  fee!  our  savage  kin. — 

And  thus  alone,  with  conscious  meaning,  wear 

The  Indian's  Moccasin! 

JShuiic  Goodale. 


'hi: 


Ji 


:  1-1 ; 


THE    ARROW-LEAVED    VIOLET. 


n 


r 


I       II 


^' 


■  'i'?»;-' 


X  '> 


A' 


)t 


;l 


I  I 


i     'I 


1  !' 


TFIE 


Arrow-Leaved  Violet. 


VIOLA   SAGn\n\L   Ait. 


Wlieii  lu'cchoii  buds  hc^in  to  swell, 

And  woods  tlic  bliK-bird's  warble  know, 

Tlio  little  violet's  modest  bell 

Peeps  from  the  last  year's  leaves  below. 

Ere  russet  fields  their  (jreen  resume, 
Sweet  flower,  I  lo\  e.  in  forest  bare. 

To  meet  thee,  when  thy  liiint  perfume 
Alone  is  in  the  virgin  air. 

Oft  in  the  sunless  April  day, 

Thv  early  smile  has  st.iyed  my  walk; 
But  midst  the  gorgeous  blooms  of  May, 

I  jiassed  tiiee  on  thy  humble  stalk. 

So  they  who  elimb  to  wealth  forget 
Tiie  friends  in  darker  Ibrtunes  tried. 

I  copied  them  —  but  I  regret 

That  I  should  ape  the  ways  of  pride. 


And  when  again  the  genial  hour 
Awakes  the  painted  tribes  ot'  light, 

I'll  not  o'erlotik  the  modest  ilower 

That  made  the  woods  of  April  bright. 


Bryant. 


If' 


11 


■t  I 


1  ro 


IIIU    AKKOW   1.1;A\  I'D    M()Li:r. 


1 1'  all  llowcrs  arc  thus,  thought-awakcncrs  to  the  thoiij^rhtful, 
there   must   he  a  peeuliar  charm  of  this  sort   in  the   X'iolet. 

Poor  era/ed  Ophelia,  oft'erinij^  to  Laertes,  one  by  one,  the 
llowers  of   her  wayside  i^atherin-^',  says, — 

"Tlu'io  is  ]iaiisii's,  that's  for  thoUL'lits." 

I'ansies  and  this  idea  of  thou-ht  must  hav-  i^ot  wedded  earlw 
lor  Ophelia's  phrase  only  translates  into  I'ni^lish  the  nii'anin,-;  of 
the  name  which  is  doid)tless  derived  from  the  I-reneh  word, 
/>f//S(r,  thoii_<;hl.  I. Ill  pansies  are  oidy  civilized  and  cidtivated 
violets,-  I'iola  tricolor,-  viokts  whose  environments  have  been 
made  more  favorable  to  the  development  of  possible  beauties, 
and  show   what  cidtivation   can   do  in   improving-     wild     nature. 

That  the  pansy  and  other  violets  should  have  been  sui.;-t;estive 
of  th()ui;ht,  or  thou_nhtfulness,  is  by  no  means  a  wonder  to 
inc.  Indeed,  I  can  hardly  see  how  the  modest  w  a\-  it  has  of 
han.L;inj,^  down  its  head,  in  a  cpnet,  thoughtful,  pensive  fashion, 
coidd  ha\-e  suggested  any  other  association  to  the  mind  of  a 
reflective   obserxer. 

"I  would  give  you  some  violets,"  Ophelia  savs,  "but  they 
withered  all,  when  my  father  died;"  which  gives  us  a  hint  of 
another  association  connected  with  the  \iolet.  It  was  early 
consecrated  alike  in  rural  life  and  portic  imagery  to  the  memory 
of  the  departed.  In  the  language  of  Howers,  .Shakespeare  assures 
us,  "The  \-iolet  is  for  faithfidm-ss ;  "  there  being,  I  suppose,  some 
connection  between  that  cpiality  and  its  "true  blue"  color.  It 
was  adojjted  by  the  I)onaparles  as  their  family  endjiem,  perhaps 
on   account   of  this   sigiuticance. 

'I  he   modest},  as   well   as   the   beauts',  of    this   charmini>-   surins'' 


Tin:    ARk()\V-I.i:A\  1.1)    XIOIJ'IT. 


1 1 1 


wild  flower,  has  m;ulr  it  a  tavoiitt'  with  llu  poets,  ever  since 
Homer  wrote  of  it,  as  he  had  seen  it  many  a  time  in  the  I'ar-oll 
vale,  upon  the  "rushy  banks"  of  the   Meles. 

*•  I'",\  (.'lyvs  licrc  appeared 
Meadows  (irsolU'sl  \enliii'e.  purpKil  o'er 
Willi  \  iolets.      It  was  a  seeiie  to  till 
A  l;ih1  Iroiu  llea\eii  with  woiulei'  aiul  tleli^lit.'' 

If  tiiere  are  no  "  \ioiets  blue,"  or  other  ilowers  in  heawn,  I 
j^reatly  wonder  how  the  i;ods,  or  anybod)-  else,  can  be  Inni;'  eon- 
tent  there.  Truly  we  may  expect  the  Christian's  liLaxin  to  be 
radiant  ami  fragrant  with  a  wealth  of  llowrrs,  for  was  not  He 
who  is  the  "Kino'  of  Ilea\eii"  passionately  fond  of  Ilowers 
when  on  earth  he  made  his  home,  teaching  from  them  man)'  a 
sweet  lesson  of  trust  and  patience?  And  is  lie  not  called  in 
the  "  Iilder  Scriptures"  "The  Rose  of  Sharon  '  and  "  d'he  Lily 
of  the   Valleys  "  ? 

The  Wild  X'iolet  of  KnL;land  and  the  continent  of  liurope, 
which  is  the  theme  and  admiration  of  so  many  poets,  differs 
from  our  own  by  jjossessini^  a  most  exipiisite  fragrance,  as  our 
I'^noiish  oardcn  \iolets,  I 'io/d  odofafa,  will  abundantly  demon- 
strate. The  comparison  which  the  Duke  makes  in  "Twelfth 
Nioht,"  between  soft  music  and  the  south  wind  laih'U  with  the 
fraorance  of  \iolets,  makes  mention  in  a  sufticiently  poetical  way 
of  this  attribute  of  the   lh)Wer. 

'■  ()  it  canie  o'er  my  ear  like  tlie  sweet  south. 
'I'hat  breathes  upon  a  bank  ot  \  iolets, 
StealiiiL;'   aiv.l  ^iviiit;-  odor." 

This  —  as  well  .is  its  color,  form,  and  modest  Ijearinjj^  —  has 
charmetl  the  appreciative  senses  and  won  the  susceptible  hearts 
of  all   true  poets. 


'  !! ' 


rrr' 


5 


iii  1111'  ai<u()\v-i.i:a\  i-.i)  \i()Li;r. 

HiMutilul  ail'  Villi  ill  ynm  1<iw1iik-ss; 

Uiiylit  111  \iiiir  liiu's,  ilcliiioiis  in  your  scent, 

I^(i\ily  ymir  inoili'st  hlossonis,  dou  ii\.;iitl  In'iit, 

As  sill  iiikiiii,'  tidiu  Diir  ya/A'.  yi't  proiiipt  tn  bless 

'l"lu'  pa^MC-by  witli  Ira^raiue.  ami  I'Xjiiess 

I  low  tiiaeeriilK',  tbnuLili  iiiiiti'lv   iliii|iuiit. 

All'  uiKibti  tisi\  i'  wdilii  ami  iiuik  idiilfiil, 

Kejoic'iiii,'  ill  liuir  own  (ibseiire  ii(.i>s. 

Deli^litriii  How  lilts  I   at  till'  \oiic  ot'sjiriii<f 

\'oiir  bulls  uiil'oKliil  to  its  sunbeams  bri,u;lu; 

Ami  thoii^h  \i)ui'  blossoms  soon  siiall  taiK'  Ironi  sii;lit. 

Abo\e  youi   lo\\l\   bntli|>laii'  birds  sliall  siii^', 

Ami  iVom  your  ilustiTiiiL;  leaves  llu'  ylow-w oim  llini;- 

'I'lir  emeialil  ,L;lor\   ot'liis  iMitli-boiii  lij;lit. 

/>(ir/oii. 

Tlioijoh  till'  (klicate  hhic  has  so  loiio  been  iviooiii/.L'd  as  tlic 
characteristic  cohir  ol   these   thiwers, — 

"  Blue,  blue  as  it"  the  sky  let  tall 
A  llo\ser  Iroiii  it>  eerulean  wall"  — 

tiiat  it  has  cn'cii  o;i\cii  the  nanie  to  thi'  most  refrangible  ray  of 
tlic  sohir  siiectriiin,  the  extreme  l)lue  or  xiolet  liohl  ;  \et  the 
tfaditioii  runs  that  the  flower  was  orioiiially  wiiite,  as  se\eral 
species  of  it  are  now.  Indeed,  our  oidy  nati\e  xiolet  which  has 
any   noticeable   fra_L;ratice,  is   a   white  one. 

Shakes[)eare  has  preserved  to  us  a  form  of  the  les^U'iid  whicli 
tells  how  this  white  llower  came  to  be  jmrple  as  it  is,  in  tlu' 
well-known  lines  from  "Midsummer  Nioht's  Dream,"  the  last  ol 
which   only   shall   we   be  able   to  make   room    for   here. 

It   seems   that  Cupid  once   h;id   hostile   intentions  towards 

"A  lair  \estal  throned  by  the  West," — 


nil      AUKOW   1  I   \\  I  I)    \  lol.I'T. 


U3 


supposi-d  to  li;ivi'  liicii  tamoiis  "  ( jiucn  Hl-ss,"  of  I iiij^f land's  "Sea- 
girt Isk',"  who,  lor  reasons  not  lar  to  liml,  tlioiii;li  perhaps  not 
fair  to  mention,  was  not  an  inspirer  ol  the  tender  passion  to 
any  ^reat  extent,  nor   inmh   susceptihh'   to  it,  either. 

Heini;  "all  armed"  one  ni-hl,  the  little  j^od  drew  sui  h  a  bow 
as  that  it  mi,i;ht,  (  )l)eron  says,  "  have  piereed  an  luindri'd  thousand 
hearts."  lint  his  aim  was  poor,  or  the  "  fair  vestal  "  was  arnuMed 
with  tloid)le-plated   steel,  lor   unharmed 

"'i'he  iinpi'iiiil  vntari-ss  passed  on 
111  niaiilen  inedilatioii,  tancv  Irec." 


1  I 


Obcron  continues  : 

"  \\'t  inarki'd  !  wlnTf  tlic  bull  nt' L'lqiid  tell: 
U  tell  iiiiDn  a  little  western  llowef, 
Hetiire  milk-white;    ikiw  |nir|)le  with  l(ivi'"s  woiiiui. 
Ami  maiden-^  eall  it  "  love-in-idleness.' 
I'eteh  me  that  llower;  the  herb  I  showi'd  thee  onec; 
'J'he  juice  ol' it  on  sleeping'  eyelids  laid. 
Will  make  or  m.iii  or  woman  madly  dote 
I'pon  the  next  li\e  ereature  that  it  sees." 

It  wrouoht  a  most  absuinl  eharm  upon  spriohtly  Oucen  'I  ita- 
nia,  in  that  fairv  world  fd"  dreams.  lUit  it  has  not  ceased,  even 
to  this  time,  to  have  a  eharm,  whii  h  it  can  easily  cast  over  the 
hearts  of  Nature's  worshippers,  who  t^o  about  seekini.;-  shrines  in 
woodland   and    field,   by   mountain   and   river. 

1  ihiidv  no  one  reared  in  the  country  will  ever  have  the 
memories  of  sprint;-  randjles  throuoh  the  woods  and  pastures,  in 
childhood,  disassociated  from  the  "blue  violets."  They  were 
everywhere  beneath  our  feet.  We  could  always  find  them,  and 
never    too     manv    of    them.       Who    does     not    also     remember    a 


:  ■ 


i  ' 


'i 


114 


Till':  akkou-i.i:avi,I)  vioi.i' r. 


i^amc  of  this  sort  with  tliciii.  ("alliii};  them  "roosters,"  \vc 
u'ouhl  hjck  tiicir  iicads  toi;cthcr  by  tlic  projecting'  spur  into 
which  tlie  h)\\er  petal  is  extended,  inc!  then  pull  away  until  one 
or  the  other  of  the  heads  tlew  o;l,  —  the  one  whose  head  stayed 
on  bein;^-  of  course  the  \  ietor  in  the  contest.  It  always  seemed 
to  me  a  cruel  way  to  treat  these  innocent  little  thint^s,  for  I 
always  had  a  feelin;^'  that  somehow  there  was  sensitix'e  life  in 
them.  I)Ut  after  takini.;  our  iill  of  this  lloral  cock-lis.j;hting',  there 
were  always  enough  \iolets  left  to  fdl  our  hands,  as  we  trutlged 
away  home. 

Ik-fore  we  turn  away  from  the  poet  to  find  out  what  the 
naturalist  has  to  say  for  tliis  beautiful  ilower,  which  is  the  delight 
of  childhood  and  old  age  alike,  we  must  not  miss  those  tender 
and  ])laintive  lines,  in  which  Wordsworth  twines  in  an  immortal 
wreath    the  memory  of  modest   \irtue    with   the  modest  violet. 

.She  (Iwch  anioiii;-  the  uiUr;xltk'ii  \\a\s 

fk'sitlc  tlu'  spriiii,'s  <it  Dove, 
A  iiiaiil,  wiioiii  tliere  was  iioiu'  to  praise, 

And  very  few  to  lose. 

A  \  iolet  by  a  mossy  stone. 
Halt  hidden  iVoni  the  e\e, 

I'air  as  a  star  wlieii  only  oik- 
Is  shininji'  in  tlie  sky. 

Site  h\(.-d  luiknoun,  and  few  conld  know 

Wlien  Lney  ceased  to  be, 
Bnt  she  is  in  her  gnu  e,  and  oil. 

Tile  dillerenee  to  me. 

Professor  Meehan  assures  us  that  there  is  some  ground  for 
sui)i)osing  that  the  oKl  Latin    name  for  this   Ilower,  the  same  that 


THli    AKR0\V-1J:A\ED    \  U)LliT. 


1 1 


the  t^^rcat  Linn.x'us  also  adoijted  for  it  in  his  system,  I'iohi,  is 
from  the  same  root  as  via,  a  path  or  road,  and  refers  to  the  fact 
tliat  this  little  "  l)hie  beauty"  was  always  found  the  traveller's 
constant  comi)anion  beside  every  way  or  path  which  he  niiyht 
take,  throui^h   field  or  forest. 

There  are  three  species  of  blue  violets  common  all  over  the 
country,  viz.,  the  one  j^iven  in  our  plate,  I 'io/d  saorifnta,  and  the 
"Common  blue  X'iolet,"  / '.  ciiciilata,  and  the  "  ISird's-foot  N'iolet," 
/ '.  pcdata.  These  species  are  more  easily  (listin_i;uishe(l  from 
each  other  by  their  leaves  than  b_\-  anything;-  else.  In  the  first 
the  le.if  is  not  always  shaped  like  an  arr(n\-head,  as  its  namt' 
would  imply,  but  more  often  like  the  I)oul  of  a  teaspoon,  w  Idle  the 
petiole,  or  handle  of  the  spoon,  which  is  shoi-l,  is  apt  to  be 
somewhat  widened  by  the  extension  oi  the  narrow  mar^in  of  the 
leaf  down   its   sides. 

The  leaves  of  the  second  are  much  lart;er,  and  heart-sha[)ed  at 
the  l)ottom,  with  the  lobes  frecpiently  rolled  in.  The  leaf  of  the 
last  is  tleeply  divided,  cpiite  down  to  the  i)etiole,  the  parts  of 
the  leaf  radiatini;'  from  its  extremity  as  the  toes  of  a  bird's  foot 
radiate  from   the  extremity  of  the  ley. 

The  Ijlossoms  of  the  "Arrow-leaved  X'iolet  "  are,  perhaps,  the 
deepest  and  richest  blue,  while  those  of  the  "  F>ird's-foot  X'iolet" 
are  most  likely  to  be  xariej^ated  in  coI(n\  They  often  show, 
indet'd,  a  near  approach  to  those  of  the  pansy,  in  the  striking 
contrasts  of  shade  in  the  same  tlower,  and  in  the  vehety  texture 
of  some  of  the   petals. 

Thous^h  the  X'iolet  produces  such  an  abundance  of  perfect 
llowers,  that  is,  flowi'rs  with  fully  ileveloped  stamens  and  pistils, 
yet  it   has  been   found   that  scarcely  any  of  them  are  ever  fi'rtile, 


ill 


ill 


11 "  ' 


ii6 


nil-     ARROW  LICAVHl)    MOLLIT. 


and  it  is  very  rare  that  one  tinds  a  seed  vessel  produced  from 
tliese  blue  blossoms.  The  reason  for  this  sterility  is  not  exactly 
known.  lUit  if  you  will  carefully  observe  the  Arrow-leaved 
Violet  alon;^'  into  the  summer,  you  will  find  that  it  jiroduces 
flowers  without  these  beautiful  blue  petals,  (lowers  which,  per- 
haps, it  will  be  difficult  to  discover,  for  they  will  consist  only 
of  stamens  and  pistils  enclosed  antl  hid  away  out  of  sight  in 
the  ureeii  envelope  which  the  l)otanist  calls  the  calyx.  'ihis 
flower  is  very  fertile  and  alwavs  self-fertilized.  IMants  which 
have  these  "  secret  marriages  "  are  called  ch'isfof^anio/ts, 

IJy  one  of  those  curif)us  and  ingenious  contrivances  for  w  hich 
Nature  is  so  .much  celebrated,  ample  provision  is  made  for  the 
wide  distribution  of  the  seeds  produced  from  these  hidden  flowers. 
When  the  seed-hojdt'r  i.-^  ripe,  the  sides  conti\'ict  and  ])ress  inward 
upon  the  smooth  inclosed  seeds  in  such  a  way  as  to  snap  them 
out  to  a  considerable  distance,  as  a  bean  ;iiav  be  snapped  from 
between    the   thund)  and   finger  b\'  a  smart  jiressurc. 

The  sudden  jjrojection  ci  the  seeds  in  this  w  av  has  given 
rise  to  the  belief  among  the  people  in  some  parts  of  Hngiand 
that  the  X'iolct  breeds  fleas, -- the\-  mistaking  these  darting  seeds 
for  the  (puck   spring  of  that   sprightly  and    enterprising  insect. 

But  ue  must  take  leave  of  our  modest  little  life-long  friend 
somehow  ;  and  how  better  than  in  the  words  of  one  of  the 
sweetest  of   Mrs.   \\'hitne)'s  always  charming  poems? 

A  viourr. 

God  ik)os  not  send  us  str;ini,rc  llowors  every  year. 
Wlicn  the  spring'  winds  blow  o'ei'  tiie  pleasant  places, 
The  same  dear  tilings  lilt  up  the  same  fair  laces. 
Tlie  violet  is  here. 


THF.  arro\v-li:a\  T.l)  \1()li:t. 


117 


r 
Hi 


It  all  comes  back:  the  odor,  p-ace.  and  hue; 
?^ach  sweet  relation  of  its  lite  repeated: 
No  blank  is  let't,  no  lookin^-lbr  is  cheated; 
it  is  the  thin_L,f  we  knew. 

So  alter  the  death-winter  it  must  be. 
God  will  not  put  strange  sii,ms  in  the  heavenly  places: 
The  old  love  shall  look  out  iVom  the  old  laces. 
Veilchen!   1  shall  have  thee! 


m 


I 

I'd 


THE    PURPLE    AZALEA. 


ii, 


ill 


I  .  , 


ir 


m\ 


IN 


ii  1 


The  Purple  Azalea. 


(PiNXTER  Flower.) 


A/^.ll.r..l    XrDII'l.OR.l,    L. 


THE    RIIODORA. 

I  Lines  on  \w\n%  aski-il,  uliunti;  is  iho  lliuvrrr] 

In  May,  wlu'ii  siM-wiiuls  ]iic'i\-i.'(l  our  solitmli'S, 
1  ImuiuI  thf  Ifcsli  RhdiliHa  in  tlic  woiuls. 
Sprcailini,^  its  Icalless  bldoins  in  a  damp  nook, 
1"o  iileasc  tlio  (losLTt  and  a  shim^isli  hidnk; 
Tlic  piirjilc  ]ietals  ("alien  in  tlu'  I'.nol 

Madf  tlu'  blark  watxTS  with  tiu'ir  bcants'  Liav:  — 
IK'i'e'  niiL;lit  tlic  i\'d-bird  idiiu'  liis  phnni's  to  cnui. 

And  iDUit  tlic  tlowLT  liiat  ».-iu'a]H-ns  liis  airay. 
Rliodoial    if  tlu-  saL;cs  ask  tlicc  \\\\\ 
■^riiis  charm  is  wasted  on  tlic  marsh  aiul  sk\ , 
Dear,  tell  tlu'iii,  that  il  I'Vi-'s  uxtl'  maile  tor  sccinj^ 
ThcMi  bi'anty  is  its  own  i.'.\cusc  for  beinL;'. 

Why  tiiou  wcrt  tliorc.  ()  rival  oftlic  rose! 
I  ni'Ncr  tlionu'lit  to  ask;    I  nexer  know. 

But  in  my  simple  i<,morance  supjiose 
The  sell-sanic  Power  that  brought  me  there,  brought  yon. 

Ralph    Walilo  ILincrsou. 


I   HAVE  quoted   these  words   of  the  i^Teat   i)liilosopher  to  intro- 
duce   the    Azalea,    because    thev  are    ainono-    the    classics    of    our 


f 


!  1  'i 


124 


nil'  I'UKi'i.i-:  a/ai.i:a. 


iHotlu  r  toii.mu',  ;in(l,  "  I>c;uity  is  its  own  excuse  lor  l)^.•inl,^"  lias  loiij; 
siiur  passed  into  tlu'  current  coin  of  daily  speech;  also,  heeaiist- 
it  (Useiil)e>  a  llower  so  nearly  related  to  the  A/aU'a,  that  sonie- 
thinj;  with  a  greater  botanieal  defmiteni'ss  than  a  poem  must  hi' 
Used  to  (hNliiiL;ui^h  them  ajjart.  Indeed.  I  am  inclined  to  think 
that  it  ma\-  hi'  the  A/alea  al'te'r  all  that  wa-^  in  the  poet's  ^■\\■  as 
he  wrote,  I'or  his  c'Xpression,  "its  leafless  blooms,"  e\actl\-  trans- 
lates the  specific  name  of  our  plant,  ////i/i/Zcni.  It  must  he  said, 
howc'\er,  that   it   also  ai'curatel\-  describe^   llu'    Rhodoia. 

'I  he  Purple  Azalea,  of  which  Mr.  Spraj^ue  has  ^iwu  us  a 
mo>t  excpiisile  repri'sentation,  is  one  of  the  most  sliowy  and 
splentlid  of  the  nati\e  Howerin};'  shrubs  of  our  forests,  it  L;rows 
from  two  to  six  ft'et  hii^h,  in  swamps,  from  Mass.ichusetts  and 
Ni'w  \'ork  to  X'iri^inia,  and  southward.  Bloomini;  in  .Ajiril  and 
Mav,  when  the  woods  are  comparati\el\-  bare  of  both  toliaL;f  and 
th)wers,  it  is  all  the  better  able  to  set  off  its  brilliant  and  showy 
flowers  with  dazzlin;^'  effect,  ai;ainst   the   surrounding'  dulness. 

There  are  many  \arieties  of  the  ilowir,  ran^ini;-  all  the  way 
from  flesh-color  to  pink  and  purple.  They  not  seldom  also  vary 
in  the  nundjcr  of  stamens  produced,  sometimes  exhibiting   ten  or 

mure. 

\o  other  American  poet  has  enshrined  this  sprini.;-  beauty  in 
verse,  so  far  as  I  know,  except  the  youni;-  soni^stress  ot  the 
Berkshire  hills,  to  whose  pen  I  have  been  indebted  for  several 
charmint:  thinus  in  the  pa<>es  of  this  bt)ok.  Miss  Dora  Read 
Goodale. 


II 


!:  '% 


'llll.    ITNI'l.l.    A/.M.I'.A. 


125 


WILD    AZAI.KA. 

O  lU'ui'st  lon^iiiL;-.  O  iimsl  iK'ar  tlcsirc, 

I  'nsiiiisrii'd.  iinkiiow  III 
All  Ihr  hnjkcii  udddl.iiul  |i,illi 
Little  lii,'lit  or  foldi-  lialli, 
S;i\i'  llu'  l;Iiii-\   lifi'iikiiii,'  ill 
'i'lin)iiL;li  tlu-  ik'ptii  iilti'iulcr  L,'rrfti. — 

W'f  ;iri'  lu'iL'  .ildiic! 

Wliciu'i'  is  ilu'  s.uiicl  miisii'  ot'thv  wooil, 

'l"Iu'  clear,  till'  tiii'k'ss  tniie.' 
'I'Iiid'  misty  ways  uc  hliiully  Ljiopc 
To  lati  h  tlu'  earliest  siyiis  dfliope, 
Smi  nv  sliaiK'  uy  ri'stU'ss  wind, 
W'hatsd  |)liasiiies  wi'  ina\   tliul. — 

W'l'  are  JR're  alime  I 


A  sikKK  11  prescnee  stirs  the  solemn  wood, 

A  seeret  not  its  own, 
A  yoiithliil  lii^lit,  an  open  L;raee, 
An  eipial  streni^tli  in  e\  ery  jilaee. 
And,  t"ar  up  the  steeji  aseent. 
Warmth  and  (piiek  desire  are  lent 

\\'here  we  wait  alone! 

Oh,  liir  away  in  yoniler  U'aly  eopse 
Tlio  wandering;'  thrush  has  tlown. 
And  elose  alony-  the  wooiletl  steep 
We  know  an  inlluenee  ])assin<;-  deeji. 
The  .Summer  lii;ht.  the  Summer  tone, 
TI1C  rare  Azalea  makes  her  own, — 
And  we  are  not  alone! 


!  I 


i   !:l 


r^ 


ir 


!i  ! 


1  |i 


i 


-     i ! 


I     fl 


■1 


';. 


s  , 


't    '! 


The  May-Flower 

(Trailing   Arbutus.) 


Sad  Mayllowcrl   watclu'd  by  wiiUer  stars. 

And  nursed  by  winter  i^ales, 
Witli  jietals  ol'the  sleeteil  spars. 

Anil  lea\es  dI    Irozen  sails! 

^Vhat  hatl  she  in  those  drear\-  liinirs. 

Within  her  iee-riinnjetl  bav, 
In  eonuiiiin  with  tiie  wild-wood  flowers, 

'i"he  first  sweet  smiles  of  Ma\  ? 

Yet,  "  God  be  praised  "  the  Pilyrini  said. 

Who  saw  the  blossoms  peer 
Above  the  brown  lea\es,  dry  and  dead, 

"  Behold  onr  Mayflower  here  ! 

God  wills  it:    here  our  rest  shall  be. 
Oar  years  ol'  wanderini;'  o'er; 

For  us  the  Ma\tlower  of  the  sea 
Shall  s]ireatl  her  sails  no  more." 

O  s.'iered  tlowers  ot"  laith  and  hope, 

As  sweetly  now  as  then 
Ye  bloom  on  main'  ,i  birehen  slope, 

In  man)-  a  pine-tlark  yien. 


If 


I'* 


132  THli  .mav-ii.()\vi:k. 

Hi'liiiul  llu'  sfa-wiilTs  niL,',Lr<-'tl  Icnytli, 

Uncli;int,ail,  yinir  li.'a\  us  unfold, 

Like  love  bchiiu!  the  luaiily  strcni^tli 

Ot'  the  hravf  hearts  of  old. 

(17/ ////(•/: 

A  siNori.AU  intL'i'cst  to  Niw  I'LiioJaiKk'rs  ;;ttachcs  to  this 
flower,  which  niany  circuinstaiicrs  coii.s|)ii-c  to  enhance.  It  is 
associatrii  with  the  earliest  and  most  melancholy  days  of  our 
Colonial  iiistorv.  Ihere  is  a  coincidence  with  the  name  of  the 
ship  which  brought  the  brave  little  band  of  Til^rinis  to  onr 
inhos])itablc,  "stern  and  rock-bound  coast."  It  is  saitl  to  have 
been  the  first  lloral  token  by  wiiich  kindlv  Nature  gave  them 
oreetin;^'  in  the  sunn\'  days  of  sj.irint;',  after  that  dreadful  winter 
of  star\ation,  sickness,  and  death.  Mr.  W'hittier's  poem,  above, 
.dhides  to  this,  and  intimates  that  they  inhaled  a  little  feelini^r  of 
assurance  and  hope  from  the  sweet  breath  of  this  earliest  vernal 
bloom. 

It  shares  with  the  Ilepatica  the  honor  of  beinj;  the  first 
flowers  to  come  forth  from  the  newly  warmed  earth,  after  the 
frosts  and  storms  of  our  hard  New  Ilno'land  winter,  sometimes 
even,  puttinj;-  forth  its  pink  petals  out  from  under  the  very  edge 
of  a  lin^erino'  snowtlrift.  Not  seldom  its  cup  is  filled  with  the 
white  crystals  of  our  too   fre(|uently   belated   snow   showers. 

It  is  a  \erv  humble  plant.  It  _<;rows  ])rone,  close  down  upon 
the  earth,  as  its  i^eneric  name  sinnifies.  It  must  be  sought  for 
with  some  diligence.  But  when  once  found,  one  feels  that  its 
freshness,  beauty,  and  sweetness,  together  condjine  to  make  it  a 
prize  well  worth  long  searching.  A  Taunton  poet  tells  the  story 
of  its  gathering    in  these  charming  lines  ; 


Tin:  mav-iL()\\t:r. 


»33 


In  April  wlii'ii  IIk'  days  \vi  ri'  bright, 

Aiul  ffi'owin^  l()n<;\r  in  liieir  sonpr. 
When  buds  were  sliai^in;;  otVtlicir  sli'(.'|i. 

And  all  llic  airs  were  tiill  of  hope; 

H\   (.rooked  Ibotjiatlis  faintly  traeed, 

(Jiir  way  ulont^  the  fields  we  took; 
C'linibed  broken  I'enee  and  loosened  wall. 

And  erossed  the  shallow,  ^lidinii;  brook. 

We  reaehed  the  hills,  beneath  whose  base 

The  river  Hows  with  eeaseless  sound, 
And  knowini,'  the  enehanted  spot. 

Knelt  with  our  faees  to  tlie  yround. 

For,  those  who  eonie  with  lol'ty  treail, 

>\nd  eareless  undiseernini^  e'ves. 
May  often  <;()  with  empty  hands. 

Nor  tind  this  treasure  where  it  lies. 

We  brushed  the  withered  leaves  away. 

Old  remnants  of  a  worn-(Uit  year. 
And  shouteil  with  eestatie  t^lee, 

"The  tlower  is  here!   the  tlower  is  here!  " 

.1/.  i:.  .\.  Ilatha-cax. 


And  you  must  know  "the  enchanted  spot,"  if  you  find  the 
Trailing  Arbutus.  It  does  not  grow  everywhere.  It  is  choice 
and  peculiar  about  its  "local  habitation."  Concerning  some 
peculiarities  of  the  plant,  Mr.  Iligginson  offers  some  remarks  in 
"The  Procession  of  the  Flowers,"  an  Atlantic  essay,  published 
twenty  years  ago,  ([uite  well   worth  quoting. 

"There  is  always  some  single  chosen  nook  which  you  might 
almost  cover  with  your  handkerchief,  where  each  flower  seems  to 
bloom  earliest,  without  variation,  year  by  year.     I  know  one  such 


"fl 


'i: 


I! 


•34 


nil':  MAV-ii.oui'U 


place  for  Ilcpatica.  a  niilr  northeast,  another  for  May-flower  two 
miles  southwest  ;  and  eaeh  year  the  whimsical  creature  is  in 
hloom  on  that  little  spot,  wiu're  not  anotlu'r  flower  can  he  found 
open  throui;h  the  whole  eountr\-  round.  Accidental  as  the 
choici:  may  appear,  it  is  undouhtedly  Ijased  on  laws  more  eter- 
nal than  the  stars;  yet  why  all  subtle  inlluences  consi)ire  to 
bless   that   undistini;iiishable   knoll   no   man  can   say." 

He  makes  the  same  obser\ation  concernin,!^  the  sini^ular  and 
apparently  erratic  distribution  of  color  in  these  two  species. 
"There  are,"  he  says,  "certain  localities,  near  by,  wlu're  the 
ilepatica  is  all  but  white,  and  the  May-tlower  is  sumi)tuous  in 
pink;  vet  it  is  not  traceable  to  wet  or  dr\',  sun  oi^  shadow,  and 
no  a;^'ricullural  chemistry  can  dissohi:  the  secret.  Why  can  one 
reco|;ni/.e  the  Plymouth  M.iy-llowcr  as  soon  .as  seen  by  its  won- 
drous dej)th  of  color?  Does  it  blush  with  triumph  to  si'e  how- 
Nature  has  outwitted  the  rih^rims,  ;ind  e\en  succeeded  in  \)yc- 
st:rvinj;-  her  deer,  like  an  li!nt;lish  Duke,  still  maintaininj.;-  the 
<lee])est  woods  in  .Massachusetts  [)recisely  where  those  sturdy 
eini_^rants   first   bej^an    their  clearint^s  ?  " 

Of  late  ve.ars  the  people  of  the  Old  Colony  country,  dwellini.,^ 
in  the  \icinitv  of  the  ;;reat  woods  of  Plymouth  and  the  C.ipe, 
collect  iivunt  numbers  of  these  beautiful  early  flowers  and  send 
them  to  their  fiiends  at  a  distance,  thioui^h  the  mails.  They  are 
•also  wrouL^ht  into  bompiets  and  floral  desii^iis,  and  peddled  on 
railway  trains  by  the  thrifty  youn!.;sters  of  that  ret;ion,  or  sent 
to  the  floral  marts  for  sale  in  the  threat  cities.  They  have  a 
marked  faculty  for  keepins;-  Ions;-  open,  when  once  in  bloom,  and 
never  seem    to  lose  their  wonderfid   fraL;rance  to  the  last. 

The  Trailing  Arbutus  is  not  conflned    to    New    Hn!.;land.       It 


Till'   \i.\v-ii.o\vi:k. 


135 


may  he  found  in  widely  scpar.ilid  Idcalitit's  tIiroii!L;h()iit  tin: 
northern  n't^ions  of  the  I'nitcd  Slates.  I  ha\c  a  |)lc'asant  memory 
of  an  early  mornins^'  walk,  i.ou'  more  than  twentv  }'ears  ai^o,  in 
the  first  fresh  sunny  days  uf  April,  to  a  eertain  pine  i,n-ove  in 
the  valle)'  of  the  threat  St.  I.awreiue,  in  search  of  these  fra^^rant 
heautit's.  And  I  was  richly  rewardetl,  for  I  brought  away  my 
hands   full   of  them. 

Mr.  \\^  II.  C.ihson,  in  a  sketch  calK'd  "A  Winter  Idvl,"  in 
"Pastoral  Days,"  makes  a  most  appreciative  refen  nee  to  this 
beautiful  and  much  loxed  flower,  with  which  we  will  take  our 
lea\e   of  it. 

"Then  can)e  a  beautiful  d.iy  like  \ery  spring'.  In  ;dl  the 
trees  the  winter  wounds  bled  with  a  cpiickened  pulse.  The  elder- 
spiyi.,n)ts  in  the  su!.^ar majjli's  trickled  all  the  dav.  lUit  at  nii^ht 
the  north  wind  came  ai^ain,  and  the  earth  was  subdued  beneath 
the  frost.  And  so  for  weeks  tlu'  north  winil  battled  with  the 
sun. 

"'Till  at  last  the  sweet  Aibutus 

Ncstlinii"  close  011  Nature's  breast, 
l-'elt  a  tlirt)b,  a  warm  imlsation, 
l^oiisc  it  Irom  its  dreaiiiy  rest. 

Tiiiowiiiii;  wide  its  little  jiortals 

b'rom  its  eoNerJi't  ol  snow. 
It  jieeped  tbrtii  t'roin  tlie  iealy  slielter 

Into  U  \ailev  white  below. 


'Am  I  dreaminti?     .Siiall  the  winter 
Stille  anil  tree/e  my  early  breath  ? 
Nay  I    I  lark  I    I  hear  the  bluebird  sin^ini 
''Spring  has  eoniel"   he  answereth. 


r' 


■36 


VnV.    MAV-M-OWI.k. 

'All,  iVost-lldWiT,  in  thy  t^rotto  yniulor, 

C'r\st;il  sim-^n'Mi,  uliiti.-  ami  iKai-. 
'I"li\  ri'i!,'ii  must  ccasi.'  v\  lion  1  auakiii; 

I'"aii.'\vt.'ll!   jialc  bloom,  thy  tiitc  draws  lu-ar. 
Hloak  Winter  is  thinr. 
Love's  Sprinf^time  is  mine.'" 


.1      : 


i|i 


THE    CALOPO(;()N. 


Iff^ 


'  ■'  i 


I         ! 


'*a'WauMKm-[n\ut\m 


t^ 


„-«i^ 


^iT 


ii .   *' 


The  Calopogon. 


C.lLOrOilOX  riLCIir.LLUS,   R.    Bnmn. 


(lod  mit^'lit  liavo  bade  tlif  i.'artli  liriny  lortli 

Kiimii^li  for  i;roat  aiu!  small, 
Tlie  (lak-trcu  and  tlie  ccdar-truc, 

^\'itlK)llt  a  llowLT  at  all; 
lie  miiflit  iiavc  made  cn()iiL;h  —  omuioh 

Foi"  every  want  of  ours, 

I'or  luMiiy,  medieine,  and  toil. 

And  yet  have  made  no  llowers. 

Mary  Ilo-cilt. 

God  made  the  llowers  to  beautify 

The  earth,  and  eheer  man's  earefid  mood, 

And  lie  is  happier  who  lias  power 

To  feather  wisdom  iVom  a  tlower. 

And  wake  his  heart  in  cverv  hour 

'I'o  pleasant  ,L,natitiide. 

Wonh-iorth. 

Thf,  C;ilopo,o-nn  is  <Mie  of  our  most  intcrcstiiio^  native  Orchids. 
And  of  all  the  phmts  that  .^row,  none  combine  more  elements  of 
a  stranoe  and  weird  interest  than  the  Orchids.  Their  haliit  is 
extremely  various,  some  Ix'inj^^  true  "air  plants,"  orowino-  epiphytic 
upon  trees;  others  have  a  climbino-  stem,  while  others,  like  our 
native    orchids,   grow    from    a    bulb    in    the    oround,    annual    and 


'•ff 


y  ^.w 


I    i 


';li 


142 


TIIM    CAI.()I'0(;(>\. 


herbaceous.  Many  of  lluin  exhale  a  powerful  fraj^rarice.  The 
blossom  of  most  of  them  takes  on  some  eurious  or  fantastic  ft)rm, 
as  in  the  Lady's  SlipiJer,  already  described,  and  in  the  liee 
Orchis,  and  l*ly  Orchis,  and  Toad  Orchis,  and  many  (others, 
named  from  their  fancied  resemblance  io  these  creatures.  An 
olil  writer  comments  on  this  sini;ular  likeness  in  the  case  of  the 
Heo  Orchis  in   this  (|uaint  fashion,— 

"At  the  top  j^TO'.v  the  flowers,  resemblini^'  in  shape  the  dead 
carkasse  of  a  IJee.  There  is  no  s;reat  use  of  tliem  in  physickc 
but  thev  are  chietly  rei^arded  for  the  pleasant  and  beautiful 
flowers,  wherewith  Nature  hath  seemeil  to  play  and  disport 
herself." 

The  following-  lines  from  Langhorne  make  note  of  the  same 
strange  ileception  :  — 

Sec  on  tliat  llowerct's  \el\  tt  breast, 

IIi)\v  close  tlic  busy  Na^ranl  lies! 
His  tliin  wrou^lit  |iluiiic.  iiis  downy  breast, 

Tlie  ambrosial  j^'old  that  swells  iiis  tliinlis. 

I'eriiaps  his  iVaLrraiU  loaii  may  bind 
His  limbs;   we'll  set  tiie  captive  lice! 

I  soui,dit  tiie  iixin^-  bee  to  lind, 
.\nil  Ibund  tiie  picture  ol'a  bee. 

But  by  far  the  most  wonderfid  distinction  of  the  Orchis 
family  is  the  elaborate  mechanism  by  which  it  is  enabled  to 
compel  thiC  services  of  the  insect  world  in  sendino-  its  fertilizinsj^ 
j)olIen  from  flower  to  flower.  The  studies  which  Mr.  Darwin 
has  made  and  illustrated  in  "The  Fertilization  of  Orchids,"  read 
more    like    the    stt)ry    of    a    m.i;^ician,    or    the    doings     jn     some 


THI':   CALOrOGON. 


•43 


enchanted  forest,  where  Fays  and  (ienii  work  their  strani^e  witch- 
er\',  than   like  the  pKiin   prose  of  soI)er  science. 

Among  the  simplest  of  these  is  the  mechanism  of  the  Cypri- 
jiedium,  already  described,  and  of  the  Calopogon,  now  under 
notice.  If  now  yon  stndy  the  llower,  or  Mr.  Sprague's  admirable 
portrait  of  it,  you  will  perceive  two  floral  parts,  not  regular  petals 
springing  from  the  centre  of  it.  'i"he  one  which  stands  up  \)cv- 
pendicularly,  elegantly  bearded  with  white  and  yellow  hairs  upon 
the  inside,  hinged  at  the  bottom  and  widened  or  winged  at  top, 
is  called  the  lip  or  labellum.  The  other,  which  lies  down  hori- 
zontally, also  widened  or  winged  near  its  extremity,  is  called  the 
column,  and  bears  at  its  extreme  enti  both  the  stigma  and  the 
anther.  The  labellum  will  often  be  found  bent  down  toward, 
often  almost  resting   upon,  the  column. 

The  Calopogon  has  but  one  ;intlier,  which  is  twodobed  and 
bears  four  pollen  massifs.  The  anther  is  a  thin-walled  cup, 
hinged  at  its  back  witii  the  extreme  end  tissues  of  the  col- 
umn. It  lies  in  a  little  hollow,  and  f.ices  inward  toward  a 
thin  partition-wall  which  is  r.iised  up  at  that  point  across  the 
axis  of  the  column.  The  stigma  is  on  the  other  surface  of 
this  partition,  and,  of  course,  still  nearer  to  the  centre  of  the 
llower.  The  ripened  anther,  when  touchetl  by  a  boily  moving 
in  a  direction  away  from  the  centre  of  the  flower,  will  roll 
U|)ward  upon  its  hinge  with  the  greatest  possible  ease,  expos- 
ing its  pollen  masses  to  contact  with  the  disturbing  body; 
and  contact  means  that  they  shall  be  carried  away  captive, 
for    they    will    certaiidy    adhere. 

Now  the  stigmatic  ^uirface,  which,  as  just  mentioned,  lies 
on    the    other    side    of    the    wall    that    closes    the     mouth     of     the 


rff"^ 


•'i 


'44 


THH    CALOPOGON. 


anther  in  its  ndrinal  position,  and  which  is  in  the  most  unfa- 
vorable jiosition  to  receive  the  pollen  from  its  own  anther,  is 
in  exactly  the  rii^ht  place  and  |)osition  to  be  fertilized  by 
pollen  broui^ht  by  an  insect  from  another  flower,  upon  the 
under  surface  of  his  body.  And  you  will  see  that  if  he  lights 
u|)on  the  tlower  he  will  most  certainly  touch  the  anther,  at  the 
enil  of  the  coluiun,  with  that  i)art  of  his  body.  But  he  will  get 
the  pollen  only  when  he  makes  a  backward  movement,  like  that 
of  retiring  from  his  re|)ast  of  sweets  in  the  centre  of  the  flower. 
Thence  he  will  carrv  it  to  another  tlower  and  fertilize  it,  at  the 
same  time  that  he  robs  that  of  its  j)ollen,  wherewith  to  impreg- 
nate a  third,  and  so  on. 

This  jjlant  is  <[uite  common  in  bogs,  flowering  in  July.  It 
grows  to  the  height  of  a  ff)ot  or  more,  and  bears  from  two  to 
six  brilliant  ])ink  or  i)urple  flowers  u|)on  its  scape.  It  is  some- 
what fragrant,  and  is  one  of  the  most  beautiful  ornaments  of  our 
lowlanil  flora.  It  makes  a  rare  picture  to  please  the  eye,  and 
teaches,  as  we  have  seen,  a  rare  lesson  oi  the  mutual  inter- 
depenilence  and   helpfulness  o{  the  creatures  of   N.ature. 

\'l'  l)iii;ht  Mdsaies!   tiiat  witli  storied  lii'auty, 

'I'lie  floor  of"  Nature's  temple  tcssclate, 
^\'hat  iiuimToiis  tiiibleiiis  ol"  iiisli'iictix  e  tliity 
"S'oiii'  ioniis  cri'alel 

'Noatli  cloistered  lioui^iis,  eacli  flora!  liell  tli;it  swiii<retli. 

And  tolls  its  iK'rtiinie  on  tiu-  ]iassiii<,^  air, 
Mal<cs  Sabhatli  in  the  lipids,  and  c\er  ringclli 
A  call  to  prayer. 


THE   CALOl'OGON. 


'45 


To  that  C'atlicdral,  bouiullcss  as  our  wonder, 

Wlioso  (iiiciichlcss  lamps  tlic  sun  ami  moon  supply; 
Its  cliuir  tlic  winds  and  waves,  its  or^ran  thunder; 
Its  dome  tlic  sky. 

There,  as  in  solitude  and  shade  I  wander 

Throu<,di  the  .yreen  aisles,  or  stretehed  upon  the  sod, 
Awed  by  the  silenee,  reverently  ponder 
The  wa\s  ol"(Jod, 

Your  voieeless  lips,  O  flowers!  are  living  preachers, 

ivaeh  eup  a  pulpit,  every  leaf  a  hook, 
SupplyinLC  to  my  liuiey  numerous  teachers 
l"'rom  loneliest  nook. 


I'loral  apostles!   that  in  dewy  splendor 

Weep  without  woe,  and  blush  withou*  a  crime, 
Oh,  may  I  deeply  learn,  and  ne'er  surrentler. 
Your  love  sublime! 

Horace  Siiiilh. 


THE    LONG-LEAVED   ASTER. 


;••■'*" 


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111; 


The  Long-Leaved  Aster, 


^ISriLR    LOXC.nOLlUS,    Livuank. 


AUTrMX. 

With  uiiat  a  jilnry  comes  and  <j;ocs  tlic  year! 
'I'lic  Inuls  ol"  spring,  tliosc  bcaiitiriil  liailiint^LTS 
C)l   sunii}'  skies  ami  ciouillcss  t'liu's.  enjov 
Life's  newness,  ami  earllTs  garniture  spread  out; 
And  when  the  sihiT  habit  nl"  the  eloiids 
Comes  down  upon  the  autumn  sun,  ami  witii 
A  sober  <,dadness  the  old  year  taki's  u|> 
His  briy-ht  inheritance  ol"  golden  Iruits, 
A  pom|>  ami  pai;eant  llll  tlie  spleiulid  scene. 

Tiicre  is  a  beautilul  s]iirit  breathin;^^  now 
Its  mellow  richness  on  the  ciusteretl  trees. 
And  I'rom  a  bi'aker  lull  ol"  richest  ihes, 
I'ourinj;'  new  L;loiy  on  the  autumn  woods, 
Ami  dijipint,f  in  warm  lii;ht  the  ]ii bared  clouds. 

Oh.  wh.at  ,1  <,dory  doth  this  world  put  on 
I'^or  him  who  with  a  rer\eiit  lu-art  ijoes  forth 
Under  the  bri^itt  and  glorious  skv.  ami  looks 
On  iluties  well  performed,  and  ilavs  well  spent! 
For  him  the  >vind,  ay.  and  the  \ellow   lca\  es. 
Shall  ha\  e  a  \-oicc,  ami  L;i\e  him  clo(|ueiU  teachint;s. 
lie  shall  so  hear  the  solcnui  lunm  that  Death 
lias  lit'teil  up  tor  all,  that  he  shall  i^o 
'J"o  his  Ions;-  restinL;-i)laci'  without  a  tear. 

I. i>iii<- tell (>-,.•. 


r  I 


152 


THE   LONG-LKAVEU   ASTER. 


i  sfspiXT  it  would  be  hard  to  say,  on  purely  Darwinian 
ffrouiuls,  or  i;rouiids  of  "natural  selection,"  just  how  it  tame 
about  that  the  whole  season  is  full  of  flowers,  —  that  summer 
and  autumn  equally  with  the  sprini;  ha\e  each  their  own  peculiar 
floral  treasures.  It  certainly  seems  to  I)e  the  most  natural  thins.,'- 
that  ))lants  should  blossom  in  the  spring  antl  early  summer,  so 
as  •()  have  most  of  the  season  yet  before  them  in  which  to  fully 
ripen,  and  then  distribute  their  seeds.  Vet  it  remains  true  that 
a  considerable  number  of  our  most  beautiful  llowers  are,  so  to 
say,  left  over,  wherewith  to  adorn  the  <;lowin;<  noontides  of 
Au;<ust,  and  the  still,  hazy,  dreamy  days  of  September  and  Octo- 
ber, splendid  with  a  sini.;ular  i^mhlen  li;<ht.  Then  is  the  time  for 
the  innumerable  blue  and  pur])li-  Asters,  the  Golden  Rod,  and  the 
marvellous  azure  of  the  Frin!.;ed  Gentian,  all  min;.;led  with  the 
unequalled  splendors  of  our  American  forest>,  dressetl  in  their 
many-colored  autumnal  s^arb. 

\V;illc(l  in  witli  (ire  on  oilluT  iiand 

1  walk  tlu-  loiH'ly  wiKKl-rciad  tliroiigh; 
'I'iic  maples  llainc  above  my  lu;ul. 
Ami  spaces  whciure  tiie  wind  lias  siicd 
About  my  feet  tlie  livini,'  red, 

Are  tilled  with  broken  blue. 

Anil  erowdint^  elosi'  alon<x  the  way 

Tile  ]Mn'])le  AsliTs  blossom  liee; 
In  lull  ]ii'o|'usi(jn.  tar  and  witlo, 
Tlie\'  till  the  jiath  on  e\  eiy  side, 
In  loose  eonlusion  multiplied 

To  endless  hannon)  ! 


Till':  Lo\(;-Li:AVF.n  astf.u. 


•53 


Anil  still  beside  the  shailowy  <;lcii 

She  holds  the  coU)!"  ol"  the  skies; 

Aloiii;  the  iniiplin<i  waysitle  steep 

She  haii^s  iier  lViiitj;es  pussiiii^  deep, 

And  meadows  drowned  in  liajip)'  sleep 

Are  lit  by  starry  lyesi 

Pom  /C('(n/  O'ooi/d/r. 

The  ijenus  Aster,  which  is  certainly  one  (if  the  most  beautiful 
of  the  tinier  Coni[)osita-  to  which  it  belonj^s.  contains  iipuanls  of 
one  hiiiulred  and  fifty  species,  most  of  which  are  natives  of  the 
American  continent.  Ciray,  in  his  Manual,  _t;ives  thirty-eiij^ht  as 
iiuli;^enous  to  the  eastern  United  States,  more  than  half  of  which 
are  to  he  found  in   New   Hni^land. 

'Hie  Asters  may  he  distinguished  from  other  jilants  of  the 
order  by  certain  easily  observed  characteristics.  The  tlower  of  a 
composite  plant  is  made  up  of  a  consiilerable  number,  often  of  a 
very  i^reat  number,  of  florets  [)acketl  closely  together  in  the  disk 
or  cone  of  the  blossom.  These  florets  have  the  essential  parts 
of  a  flower,  stamens,  pistil,  and  o\ide,  but  neither  petals  nor 
sepals.  Usually,  howe\er,  the  border  of  this  compound  flower  is 
decorated  witii  a  row  of  strap-shaped,  more  or  less  brilliantly- 
colored,  petals.  These  may  belong  to  the  outer  row  of  tlorets,  or 
they  may  not.  In  Asters  they  do.  The  calyx  is  compound, 
composed  of  se\eral  rows  of  green  scales,  which  overlap  each 
other  like  the  scales  on  a  hsh.  The  receptacle,  or  the  liase  on 
which  all  the  minute  tlowers  are  fixed,  is  a  ilat  disk  indented 
with  little  i)its.  The  ri[)ened  seed  has  for  a  crown  a  single  row 
of  simple,  slender,  white   bristles. 

In  some  Asteis  the  (lowers  form  an  umbrella-shaped  cluster 
at  the  top  of    the    plant;     others    are    arranged    on    short    stems 


154 


THii  LON(Mj:Avi:n  asti:k. 


'! 


,;   '    I 


aloiit(  tlie  main  axis  of  the  i)laiit,  foniiiii^r  a  kimi  of  spike  or 
raceme,  while  others,  iiki'  the  one  before  us,  take  a  middle  form, 
and   present   a  corymbose   panicle. 

It  has  been  observed  that  all  the  little  llowers,  which  make 
np  the  blossom  of  a  composite  plant,  do  not  bloom,  or  come  to 
|)erfection,  at  the  same  time.  lUit,  bei;innin};'  in  the  middle,  they 
blossom  in  successive  circles  outward  to  the  mar!.;in,  or,  revers- 
in;^-  this  order,  blossom  fiom  the  outer  row  inward.  The  first 
is  called  the  centrifuL;al  and  the  second  the  centripetal  order  of 
inflorescence.      To  the   latter  order  the  Asters   belonj;. 

yls/cr  loj/i^ifo/iiis  is  common  alonj;'  the  banks  of  streams  and  in 
damp  ])laces  throuL^hout  \e\\  lins^land.  It  L;ro\vs  to  the  heii^ht 
of  Irom  one  to  three  feel,  and  llowers  in  late  summer  or  autumn. 
The  word  ".Aster"  nuans  a  star,  and  refers  to  the  circle  of 
colored  petals  which  radiate  from  the  central  purple  or  brown 
disk  of  the  flower.  Anions;'  the  (ireeks  it  was  the  common  name 
for  many  other  pl.ints' of  the  Compo^ita-  besides  those  of  the 
true   .V^ter  _<;enus  as   we   now   know   it. 

To  dwellers  in  our  bind  it  is  alwa\'s  associated  with  memo- 
ries of  departin;;-  summer,  and  the  golden  har\ests  and  rare 
be.uities  of  our  autumnal  da)s.  Its  first  blossomini,^  tells  us  in 
no  unct.rtain  words  that  summer  is  ending;-,  and  the  chill  rigor 
of  Death  is  e\en  now  creeping  up  through  Nature's  frame.  Hut 
the  woo'dside  rambler  will  meet  it  still  in  the  lat  •  November 
days,  bravely  luilding  its  own  ag.iinst  frost,  and  icy  rain,  and 
bleak  winds,  looking  up  cheerfully  with  its  clear  blue  eye,  under 
all  the  depressions  uf  leaden  skies,  brown  fields,  ;uul  bare,  staik 
forest   trees. 

For  Whittier    t(j    see    the    picture    wliich    is    painted    in    these 


THE    LONG-LMAVKD    ASTER. 


155 


lines    he    must    take   a   very   late,   as    well    as    the    "  Last    Walk 
in    Autumn." 

Alon<r  tin-  river's  summer  walk, 

Tlic  witluTcd  tiuls  of  Asters  nod; 
And  trembli's  on  its  arid  stalk 

Tlic  hoar  plume  of  the  golden-rod. 
And  on  a  ground  of  sombre  tir, 
The  azure-studded  juniper, 
Tlie  silver  birch  its  buds  of  purple  shows, 
And  scarlet  berries  tell  where  bloomed  the  sweet  wild  rose! 

I  cannot  more  fittini,dy  close  this  volume  of  "  Ueautiful 
Wild  Flowers  "  than  by  quoting  the  words  of  Hryant,  that  truest 
poet  of  Nature,  as  he  has  pictured  with  deathless  pencil  the 
sad    ending    of    the    Floral   Year    in 


Tin-:  ni-ATii  of  the  flowers. 

The  melancholy  days  are  come,  the  saddest  of  the  \ear. 

Ol   wailing  winds,  anil  naked  woods,  and  meadows  brown  and  sere, 

lleapcil  in  the  hollows  ot'  the  grove,  the  autumn  lea\es  lie  dead; 

They  rustle  to  the  eddying  gust,  and  to  the  rabbit's  tread; 

The  robin  and  the  wren  are  tlown,  and  from  the  shrubs  the  jay, 

And  from  the  wood-top  calls  the  crow  through  all  the  gloomv  day. 

Where  are  the  flowers,  the  fair  young  flowers,  that  latelv  sprang  and  stood 

In  brighter  light  and  softer  airs,  a  beauteous  sisteihood? 

Alas!   they  all  are  in  their  graves,  the  gentle  race  of  flowers 

Are  lying  in  their  lowly  beds,  with  the  fair  and  g(jod  of  ours. 

The  rain  is  falling  where  they  lie,  but  the  cold  November  rain 

Calls  nol  from  out  the  gloomy  earth  the  lovely  ones  again. 


'■mr 


1^6 


THP.    I.ON'C.-Lr.AVr.I)    ASTER. 


Tlif  wiml-tlowcr  iiiul  tlio  violet,  tlicv  ncrislu'il  lotit^  am). 

And  tlic  bricr-rost.'  ami  tlu-  otcliis  died  amid  tlu-  summer  ulow; 

Hut  on  tlie  liills  tlie  golden-rod,  and  tlie  aster  in  tlie  wood. 

And  liie  \eliou-  sun-tlower  by  the  bro()i<,  in  autumn  beauty  stood. 

Till  fell  the  Irost  liom  the  clear  eold  heaven,  as  tails  the  plague  on  men. 

And  the  brightness  of  then-  smile  was  <;one.  from  upland.  j,dade.  and  glen. 

And  now.  when  eomes  a  calm  mild  day.  as  still  such  days  will  come. 

To  call  the  squirrel  and  the  bee  from  out  their  winti;r  home; 

When  the  sound  of  droppin<^  nuts  is  heard,  though  all  the  trees  are  still. 

And  twinkle  in  the  smoky  light  the  waters  of  the  rill. 

The  south  wind  searches  for  the  tlowers,  whose  fragrance  late  he  bore, 

And  sighs  to  tind  them  in  the  wood  and  bv  the  stream  no  more. 


